The Redemption We Seek
by wolfbones17
Summary: Renee Walker and Jack Bauer try to reconstruct their relationship following the kidnapping of Jack's granddaughter, meeting friends new and old, both seeking redemption along the way for things they've done. Sequel to "Anywhere."
1. Chapter 1

Writer's Note: A huge thank-you to everyone who reviewed Anywhere, often more than once, and to everyone awaiting this sequel. Thank you also for congratulating me on my graduation, which was awesome. I apologize for any errors in this - I was up until 6 a.m. and my brain's still on strike to spite me for it. xD Grad night was worth it, though. I hope you enjoy the third story in this currently-unnamed series. :)

* * *

Jack declared his intention to stay the entire day. After a few hours, the pain in my shoulder peaked. He looked over and his mouth opened slightly in shock. "Renee, you're white as a sheet," he said. He pushed the call button. The nurse on duty needled another dose of painkillers into my I.V., and soon I was falling gently asleep.

When I awoke, Jack was still sitting there, with only one difference: he was holding my left hand, ever so gently, between the two of his. His hands are rough and callused from years of labor. They were hardened by sweat, blood and gunpowder but remain gentle on me. It almost makes me disbelieve that those hands could ever be harsh. When he palms a glock, does he do so gently? Does he snap back a rifle in preparation for its use as though caressing a child?

That evening, Dr. Shaw warned us of the approaching end to visiting hours. "Make sure you don't linger too long," she said. "Nurse Carol is a stickler. She'll call in security to have you forcibly removed, and while I personally doubt security is any match for you, Mr. Bauer, I would rather not have any bloodshed. My shift's almost over, you see, and if I have to patch people up, my kitty will be very displeased with you for making me late for dinner."

The good doctor smiled, amused by her own inside joke, and left us. Jack stayed a few moments longer, but then squeezed my hand. "I should go," he said. "I'll…I'll see you tomorrow."

I nod in confirmation, and he rubbed my hand one last time before he let it go. He stood, and was about to walk away when I grabbed his arm, with a, "Jack?"

He stopped immediately, and looked down at me.

It was going to be painful to say, and painful to hear, but I had to say it. I couldn't go into this new phase of our relationship without letting him know of my chief concern.

I whispered, "Please don't break my heart."

* * *

It's Saturday, around three o'clock. It's amazing how one's life can change in the smallest periods of time. Just last Saturday I was with Jack and his granddaughter at Magic Mountain, and now I'm in a hospital.

I know what to expect from my wound. Lots of pain, painkillers that make my head fuzzy, several weeks to a few months of healing, many months of physical therapy. But I don't know what to expect from Jack. It worries me and excites me all at once.

"Hey."

I look up. Jack's standing in the doorway, a small bag in hand. "Hi," I say.

"I, ah, brought you your books," Jack says, stepping inside.

"Thank you," I say, feeling surprised. I am feeling kind of bored here. Between visits from Jack, I don't really have anything else to do, except watch the perky nurse flit in and out of the room, sometimes accompanied by Dr. Shaw, sometimes not.

He hands me the bag. "I couldn't find _The Jungle Books_, though," he says awkwardly, in a sort of offhand apology. "I don't know where it is."

I vaguely remember bringing it with me to Kim's house, thinking I could read it to her. She'd wanted the Bernstein Bears book, though, and I couldn't deny her. "I think it's still at Kim's," I say.

"At Kim's?"

"Yeah… When I picked up Teri, I brought it with me. You'd mentioned at one point that they have the animated movie of Rikki Tikki Tavi, so I thought that if she wanted me to, I'd read it to her."

Jack stares at me for a moment. "That was…that was very sweet."

I look down. I didn't do it for praise and I didn't do it to impress him. "It was something my mother did for me when I was sick," I say.

Thankfully, he doesn't latch onto the opportunity to question me about my family. Right now, I feel too raw to face those old memories.

"Can I…?" He holds his hand out, palm-side up. I look into his eyes and see a simple, worried hope there.

I lift my hand and hold it out. He takes it, lacing his fingers with mine. After a moment, he puts a gentle kiss to the back of it, lips lingering on my skin longer than usual.

He can't earn my trust if I don't give him the chance.

* * *

It's been a long seven days, but each was made a little more tolerable than the last because Jack, without fail, visited me every day. Some days he stayed until the nurses threatened to have him forcibly removed, and some days he stayed only a few minutes. It all seemed to depend on me – what I wanted, how I felt, whether I needed some space…

Jack appears in my doorway this morning. "Hey," he says. There's a soft smile on his face, but there's anxiety in his eyes. He holds up a canvas bag. "I brought you some clothes."

I smile. "Thanks." I'm not confined to the bed anymore, so I get up – gingerly, admittedly – and walk over to him. He meets me halfway, and hands over the bag. I accept them thankfully, but hesitate. He's had this look for the last few days, now – like he wants to say or do something but doesn't dare…

I brush his arm and lean in to put a small kiss at the corner of his mouth. I step back and say, "I'm just going to get changed now."

He nods. "All right. I'll close the door on my way out…"

He turns and goes. I put the bag on the bed. "Wait, Jack…" I don't look, but I can hear him stop.

"Yes?"

"I…" I run my left hand over my hair. "I might need some help."

"…Do you want me to get a nurse?"

Yes. "No." I think about earlier this week, when he asked to take my hand. I'd given it to him, because "he can't earn my trust if I don't give him the chance." That's more true in this situation than in a simple case of holding hands, I think. "I…I want you."

My heart skips a beat nervously in the silence. Finally, Jack says, "Are you sure?"

Not at all. "Yes."

I hear footsteps shuffling, and it only takes a moment for me to realize that they're shuffling toward me, and not away. Soon, his breath is in my ear. "Where do you want to start?" he says softly.

I close my eyes and sigh quietly. "Let's start with the hard part, get it over with," I say. "My top."

I feel his knuckles brush against the skin of my back as he starts to untie the hospital gown. "If at any point you don't want me in here, say so," he says.

"What I want and what I need are two different things."

"…Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Jack helps me gently into the cab. I pull the seatbelt around me and click it into place, and it wraps awkwardly over my sling. Yeah, I'm in a sling. I guess I should've seen it coming – any movement of my arm causes my shoulder nice stabbing pains – but I still feel annoyed by it. A sling. Slings are things you use to keep the neighborhood stray dogs from ganging up on the neighborhood stray cat you claimed to be "yours," even if your mom wouldn't let you keep it.

I look out the left-hand car window quietly, trying to banish my memories.

"Are you okay?"

I look back over at Jack momentarily. He's got that neutral look on, but I have a feeling I'm going to be hearing "Are you okay" a lot for…a while. "I'm fine," I say. I'm not sure if I mean it or not. I don't tell the truth as often as Jack does.

Jack is quiet for a moment. Then, he says, "The furniture I had shipped should be here in a week or so. Kim has a guest room – she's lent us the spare bed until it arrives."

Kim's thoughtfulness touches me. I mean, I saved Teri, but I didn't want to be rewarded for it. And the loan of a bed was so much nicer than being invited to stay. I like to lick my wounds in private…and I wonder if she sensed that?

"It's a twin, though, so you should have it."

I wait for a moment, and when he doesn't explain where he intends to sleep, I say, "What about you?"

"I'll figure something out," he says.

"Why don't we just share it?" He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. It was rude, I guess, but I had to say, "Jack, I…I don't want you to pull away and I don't want you to walk on eggshells around me."

"There are practical reasons for not sharing the bed," he says gently. "Your wound, for one. We're grown adults, which would already make it cramped. It would be painful for you to be squished in with me, with that shoulder."

Damn him, he's right. "Okay," I say.

"Thank you," he says.

"For what?"

Jack smiles wryly. "I meant 'thank you' for agreeing with me, but you can pretty much take your pick."

I'm not too modest to privately admit that I know exactly that he means. I saved his granddaughter when I could have just walked away. I let him back in when I could have thrown him out of the hospital room on his sorry ass. But the thing is, there was no way I was going to let Teri McAllen suffer. Saving her was as much for me as it was for her. And as for Jack, it's unfortunate for me that I'm still rather attached to his sorry ass.

"Before I forget…" Jack clears his throat. I smile to myself, a little sourly. Jack can forget? "Kim said she found a book that wasn't theirs. I said I'd pick it up, but she said she'd drop it off at our apartment later today on her way home from work."

Our apartment is twenty minutes off the route from Kim's office to her house, and that book was on the counter by the phone; there's no way it could have gone unnoticed for a week. It sounds like an excuse to come over and visit, but why? Kim McAllen, formerly Bauer, is starting to become a thing of a mystery for me. The woman saves my life, unknowingly putting her daughter at risk, and she suddenly wants to come over…

I shake my head. I'm reading too much into this. Kim's a good woman, and she probably noticed the book early on but was too busy to drop it off or mention it. She probably doesn't have any kind of ulterior motive for coming over, except maybe to thank me in person once more, as if the dozens of times over the phone and through Jack weren't enough.

I'm really tired of being thanked.

* * *

He hands me the second key to the apartment. "I think we should make a spare for Kim, for emergency purposes," he says as he opens the door with his own key.

I nod. It's practical.

The apartment has boxes scattered around – things that arrived before Jack's furniture, I suppose. Plastic and paper shopping bags line the counter between the kitchen and the living room. "I went out earlier this week and got some of the basics we'd need. Silverware, napkins, towels, things like that."

"You've been busy," I comment.

"I tried not to get anything more than that. I wanted to save the important things like furniture until you got out of the hospital."

"Thank you."

Jack rubs his nose and clears his throat, crossing his arms. "What would you like to do now?"

I'm starting to get that achy feeling. "I think I'll take some painkillers and get some sleep," I say.

"I'll get them for you," Jack says. "The spare bed's in the master bedroom. Why don't you go lie down and I'll be there in a minute?"

"Okay."

Jack nods and rummages through the paper bag in his hands. He heads for the kitchen, and I head down the hallway. In the middle of a very bare bedroom stands a lonely twin, with navy blue sheets. I sit down and think about how thoughtful Jack's being, and realize that it's the same way he's been these past weeks. He hasn't changed at all. I'm just…getting to know it all over again.

But…does that mean I can trust him? I mean, things are great when there isn't a crisis, obviously, but what about when the next crisis comes up? Will Jack fall back into denial?

He never did any of that denial crap the day we met, and that was the biggest crisis I've ever faced, in terms of damage control. I have to think that the denial was a one-time only thing, but…I can't trust him again until I'm sure. So…how will I know when I can trust him with my heart again, completely?

"Here you go," Jack says, walking in with a glass of water. He hands over the pills and the water. I pop the pills in my mouth and wash them down.

"Do you want to get changed into something more comfortable?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine like this." Day clothes don't bother me at all to sleep in. I can sleep fully clothed, jeans, bra and all, or bud naked.

"Okay." He helps me get comfortable on the middle of the bed, wrapping one arm behind my neck and the other under my legs as he gently lays me back.

The painkillers start to make me feel fuzzy. They cloud my mind, and finally my body as I fall asleep. The last thing I'm aware of is Jack pressing a kiss to my forehead.

* * *

"_Get up," Vladimir says._

_I see the knife on the ground, among the fallen bits of cutlery and food. My mind flashes to all his goddamn slaps and pinches and insults and threats, and I know I can't stand another minute. I grab that knife and shriek as I swing around and thrust it into his eye. _

_That evil smirk vanishes instantly as he yowls in pain. He falls and I'm on him in seconds, continuing to stab him._

_Hands wrap around me, pull me off him. I twist and thrust the knife, again, into my victim's side. Jack grunts, his eyes going wide beneath those ridiculous glasses. All of a sudden, we're in the hotel room, and Jack's shocked expression turns into a glower. _

"_I can't believe I ever loved you," he growls, before drawing out his own knife and stabbing me in the heart._

I wake up with a gasp. Oh, that's just not fair. Usually, the painkillers knock me out so badly that I don't dream at all. What the hell?

The dream shook me, but I look down at my hands, and I realize that I'm shaking because I really, _really_ want a cigarette.

All throughout my hospital stay, whenever I had nothing to do, I'd find myself in silence and my mind would inevitably wander back to the events of that day. That Day. Of all the things I did That Day, the only thing I regret was taking that fucking cigarette Anita offered. Because I want cigarettes again, and it's so hard to "just say no" now that I've had the taste of one.

Six years. Six fucking years, and I have to pick up the habit again because of a guy. Aren't I just miraculous?

A miraculous failure. I sit up. My wound's still a bit numb, at least. I get off the bed and notice my duffle on the floor. I kneel by it, and open it awkwardly with one hand. I fish through it and find a twenty dollar bill, which I pocket. Then I go outside the bedroom.

Jack's on the carpeted floor in the living room, near the fireplace. His head rests on a pillow and he looks like he's out. I wonder if he's been having trouble sleeping at night…I never asked.

I go into the kitchen and rummage through the drawers. There's a permanent marker to the side of a plastic cutlery organizer. I take it and write a message on the first, most noticeable paper bag on the counter: "Went out for a walk. Be back soon. Renee."

I take the key he gave me out of my pocket and go outside, locking the door behind me.

* * *

There's a 7-Eleven a few blocks over. I go inside it and my eyes lock on the cigarette case behind the cash register. The wrinkled, sour-expression'd cashier gives me a dull look. I slide the money out of my pocket and onto the counter. "A pack of Marlboros." There's a display of little plastic lighters in front of the register. I grab a black one, figuring I can shove it in my duffle and it'd be hard to see if for any reason Jack looked in there.

The cashier turns and slides open the glass casing, takes out a pack and puts it on the counter. He takes the bill and presses numbers into the register. "$6.73's your change," he says.

I shove the remaining money in my pocket and snatch the cigarettes from the counter, and ditch the 7-Eleven like it's on fire. I pause on the street, tearing into the box of death sticks. I look around as I put one in my mouth and light it, as though Jack or Kim or hell, even Janice were around the corner, ready to jump out and yell at me for my stupidity.

The tobacco relaxes my body. I slump against the side of a building, puffing on the cig. A part of me hates myself right now. A part of me sympathizes with myself.

And a part of me just wants to ditch my miserable self before I make that jump off a proverbial cliff.

* * *

I've never had to hide cigarette breath before. I go back into the 7-Eleven to buy mints, and chew them all the way back to the apartment. My pack is snug and lumpy in my back pocket. I tug my shirt down further over my butt consciously, hoping it's baggy enough to hide the outline of the pack. I wonder if Jack will notice. What will I say it is? A wallet? Jack's never seen me with a wallet. Maybe he'll just think it was at the bottom of my duffle bag and I just never dug it out 'til now.

I walk up the stairs to the apartment. Down in the quad, a little girl bounces a green ball on the ground with a little boy. I wonder if they're brother or sister or friends. I wonder if they live on the other side of the complex or in the apartment next door.

I don't wonder for long, though. I unlock the door to apartment 21C and step in.

Jack is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, one hand massaging his temples. When I walk in, his head shoots up and he looks at me. "Renee!"

"Hey," I say.

He rushes over but stops short of grabbing me. He looks like he wants to, though – but I'm not sure if he wants to grab me and strangle me or grab me and hug me like he nearly lost me. "Where did you go?" he asks.

"Just for a walk." Zadan was an excellent liar. Pre-Zadan Walker was not. I'm somewhere in the middle.

But Jack's not suspicious of anything. He bites his lip. "Renee, are you sure that was wise? You don't know the neighborhood."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "I can take care of myself, Jack." I sidestep him and walk further into the apartment. Now that I've had my fix, I just want to hide the evidence until I feel the pressing need for it again.

Jack follows me. "I know you could. Can. I mean 'can,'" he says when I turn and glare at him.

"I'm injured, Jack, not an invalid."

"I know you're not," he says. "And I do know you can take care of yourself, under normal circumstances. But your dominant arm is in a sling. That makes you look vulnerable, and it actually does make you more vulnerable, too."

"Great," I mutter.

"Renee." He catches up to me in the hallway, putting a hand on my left shoulder. I stop just short of the bedroom. "You're a gorgeous woman," he says softly. "That makes you a target for every creep, asshole and rapist in L.A. I just don't want you to get hurt."

He drops his hand as I turn to face him. "I'm glad you care," I say. "As you can see, I'm fine. I'm just going to get out of these clothes. It's hot out and I'm starting to feel a little grimy."

"Do you want some help?"

I give him a smile. "I want to try to do it on my own, first. But I promise I'll call for you if I can't."

"Okay," he says reluctantly.

I back into the bedroom and close the door, knowing he's watching me the whole time. I couldn't meet his eyes in those last moments, though, knowing I was about to shove a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in my duffle bag before he could notice them.

* * *

Writer's Note: The reviews are very encouraging. I appreciate them. :) Thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

I do get in the shower after I hide the cigs and lighter, and after brushing my teeth. Getting undressed was, well, a pain in the ass. (And in the wound. By the time I was done, pain licked outward from that damn little hole, over my shoulder and over my breast. Should it even be possible for pain to spread that far out from one precise location?)

I keep the water at a weak lukewarm, knowing better than to blast the heat up. I don't bother trying to keep my bandage dry, though – we'll just have to change it afterwards. You're supposed to change and clean it frequently anyway, to avoid infection. I left the sling on the toilet, though, so I'm awkwardly trying to hold my arm still while scrubbing myself with my left hand. I'm really hoping I won't need that thing for long, though.

When my fingers start to prune, I figure I've had enough, and shut off the water. I slide open the glass door and find a towel on the toilet, covering the sling. Jack must have come in and left it for me. I must have been really deep into my own thoughts to not have heard him. I pick it up, and it's the softest towel, in light beige. I smile into it, drying my face first. He really is rather sweet. You wouldn't think of it when he's all decked out, in the bulletproof vest with a gun for each hand and a knife in his pocket, but he really is.

A knock on the door. "Hey, Renee. I heard the water shut off. Do you need some help?"

I look between the towel and the sling. I could probably manage on my own, but not without pain. I look at the closed door. Jack would do it on his own. I know that for a fact. The man doesn't want to let anyone see him in pain.

I'm not Jack.

"Sure," I say. He comes in hesitantly, as though he expects me to change my mind. The thought occurred to me, but he's in, so I might as well let him help. I hold out the towel and he takes it, averting his eyes as he starts, very gently, by patting at the wound and my arm. My lips turn up in a small smile. After all the sex we've had, he still averts his gaze. I know it's for my benefit, but I wouldn't mind him looking at me. If even that small thing bothered me, we'd have a big problem.

Next he moves the towel to my head, to squeeze and rub at my hair. I watch his face intently, although he's hell-bent on not looking at me at all. He closes his eyes. When he's done with my hair, he moves the towel down my back. I wince and bite back a gasp when he bumps my shoulder. Jack must have felt me wince because he winces, too. "Sorry," he says.

"Jack."

He opens his eyes to meet my gaze. I smile at him. "You can look," I say.

He freezes for a moment, then nods, and looks at my body as he dries it.

He doesn't bump me again.

* * *

Later this night, Jack fixes Tuna Helper with the groceries he bought the other day. Since we don't actually have a table yet, we use the kitchen counter, which Jack had cleared of the bags while I was in the shower. In a vague attempt to be useful, I set the "table," even though Jack keeps insisting I sit down and relax. I swat his hands away and reach for the glasses. "Jack, I want to help," I say.

Jack reluctantly goes back to stirring the noodles in the pan. Well, he better get used to me helping out. I refuse to be coddled for any number of reasons that might be going through his mind right now. If this relationship is going to work, we have to reestablish two things other than trust: my independence and our equality. I can't see how I can possibly stand up with anyone else if I can't stand up for me, and as for the latter…I think it's obvious that I'm the only woman that could ever match Jack Bauer stride for stride, terror for terror, regret for regret. I want that back. I figure reestablishing myself will be a natural segue for our equality.

Jack puts the lid on the pan and sets the timer. "It should be done in about twelve minutes," he says.

We stand there, watching each other for a moment. "Wow, this isn't awkward at all, is it?" I say.

Jack smiles and huffs through his nose. "It is a little awkward," he agrees. "I don't want to say the wrong thing."

"I don't want you to worry about saying the right thing. Besides, you seem to have an uncanny habit of saying the right thing anyway," I say.

"I just don't want to lose you."

I'd love to tell him that he isn't going to lose me, but I can't. "I don't want you to lose me either," I say, "because then I'd kind of be losing you, too."

Jack cups my cheek and steps closer, and hesitantly presses his lips against mine. It's our first kiss since he left for New York. I wish I could relax into it, but my mind wanders back to this afternoon

Jack's kissing a smoker. A filthy-mouthed smoker. Despite the breath mints and the toothpaste, I feel dirty and unworthy. Before the kiss can progress past the simple touching of lips, I pull back and bury my head in his shoulder. I hold him as tightly as I can with only one arm.

"Are you alright?" Jack asks.

"I will be," I say. "Just…hold me."

* * *

I suppose I'm lucky that I didn't go and get addicted to something worse, all those years ago. I'm standing on the corner outside the 7-Eleven again. It's Thursday, around noon. Jack went to go have lunch with Kim. I don't know what the occasion is, but it's a "father-daughter" thing, as he told me before repeatedly apologizing for leaving me out.

I don't mind. Besides, it gives me the opportunity to smoke.

A man coughs obnoxiously as he passes me, glaring. "You don't like it, go walk somewhere else," I snap.

"People shouldn't be allowed to smoke in public," he says.

"We shouldn't smoke in public, we shouldn't smoke in the house, where the hell should we smoke? If the public hates cigarettes so much, they should vote to make them illegal," I say.

"Fine by me!" he snaps back, walking away rapidly.

"…Fine by me, too," I whisper, watching him go.

I take the cigarette out of my mouth and look at it. The white part is almost halfway burnt. The orange end glistens with my saliva. Thin, gray smoke rises from the burnt end in a trickling but consistent flow. It disgusts me and yet draws me in. I feel kind of like a teenager looking at porn – like maybe I shouldn't, but I can't help it anyway. I want to drop the cigarette and crush it beneath my shoe, but I can't. I hold onto it, and try to breathe the rest of it quickly, as if it wasn't so bad to smoke if I smoked the thing quickly.

When it's just a butt, I flick it onto the ground and crush it. My body hums from the tobacco, and I hate it.

I go back to the apartment. There's a small box at the door, addressed to Jack. I open the door and shove it in the doorway and to the side.

I hide the cigarettes back in the bottom of my duffle bag. Two down, fourteen left. I figure I can at least make them last if I only smoke once a day, which is about what I did back in Russia anyway. I brush my teeth and pop a mint in my mouth, before leaving the bedroom. I lean against the windowsill at the end of the hallway and look out the window, thinking.

What if they did make cigarettes illegal? Would that help me or hurt me? Probably hurt me first, I figure. I'd try to get them illegally. That's what people with addictions do – they do anything they can to get at whatever they're addicted to. How long would I be able to hide it before Jack noticed?

How long will I be able to hide legal cigarettes, right here, right now? Not long…the man never misses a beat. Shouldn't I just tell him I'm addicted to cigarettes?

No. He'll want to know how and why. I can't act like I've smoked for the last six years – I haven't smoked once in the weeks we've been together, except for the last three times. He's never seen me with a cigarette. Hell, I haven't had so much as a lighter since I quit, and tons of nonsmokers collect those. And if I tell him when I started again, he'll feel guilty.

Maybe he should feel guilty, but between him feeling and repairing our relationship, I choose the relationship. Besides, whatever led me to accept Anita's offer…it was me who accepted it. No one forced me to. It was my fault. Alone.

* * *

Writer's Note: Wow, I'm telling ya, no school is awesome on the writing bug. :3 And it'll probably last til about the time I get a job...which needs to be soon, unfortunately. x.x Saving for college and all that...


	4. Chapter 4

It's nearly two o'clock when Jack returns. I've been fidgeting in my boredom, trying to read my book, but it's hard to concentrate on a story you know by heart when your dirty lover is calling for you. I kept reminding myself that I only need one cigarette a day…and "myself" kept asking, "Why are you lying?"

But Jack's back, looking somber, and somber or not, I'm relieved to see him. "Hey," I say. I'm sitting against a bare wall in the living room, somewhere near where he's been sleeping.

"Hey," he says. He sounds tired, like some mysterious force zapped the energy out of him.

I get up and go over to him. "What's wrong?"

"It's n…" He stops. "It's not nothing, but I don't think I can talk about it right now."

I know how that feels. My family comes to mind, and Wilson, and Vladimir, and the smoking… So instead of pushing it, I just say, "A package came for you while you were out." I nod at it, and he frowns.

"Yeah?" He goes to it and picks it up, carries it to the counter. I find a knife in the drawer and start to hand it to him, but he's already sliding his key down the middle of the tape. I put the knife away, and watch him.

He pulls out an envelope from the top of the opened package and opens it. "'Jack,'" he reads, "'I heard you were finally settling down in L.A. again, so I took the opportunity to get some of your crap out of my place. I've been lovingly holding it for two years, plus tax. Take it back. Yours, Fitz.'" Jack shakes his head with a laugh. "Gotta love Fitz." He sees my look of confusion, I'm sure, and says, "After David Palmer and my friends helped me fake my death, I sent this box to Fitz for safekeeping."

"But, I thought everyone that knew about your survival was dead, except for Chloe?" I'm familiar with the incident. I'm familiar with everything on government record about Jack Bauer, and many things off the record, too.

"He didn't know it was from me at the time. I forged Chloe's handwriting and wrote him a message, saying that I was dead and wanted him to keep the box. When David Palmer was assassinated, I came back, and he inevitably found out. He's been keeping tabs on me ever since. I lost him for a while, when I was in Africa, but he found me again when I surrendered for the hearings."

"How do you know him?" I ask. I've never heard of this "Fitz" character before.

"He's someone from my old military days. His real name isn't 'Fitz,' but I'll be damned if I can remember the man's actual name."

Meaning he knows fully well who his friend Fitz is, and everything about him, but can't or won't tell me. I won't interrogate him about it, though. There are some things you just don't tell anybody, especially when they have to do with mysterious friends that hold onto packages for you for years.

Jack sets aside the letter and reaches into the box. I feel like I'm an intruder on a private reunion, bur I'm fascinated with the moment, so I don't budge. He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems to have entirely forgotten I'm here, as he pulls out stacks of papers and photographs. Envelopes bound together with twine, some bulging, some looking empty. Newspaper clippings. An old dusty metal.

But the photographs are what's most interesting. He starts to flip through them. All of them are of Kim. Kim as a baby, naked, in a tub fitted into the kitchen sink. Kim taking bold first steps. Kim as a toddler, holding an ice cream cone and waving, her nose smudged with chocolate. Kim as a kid, maybe nine or ten, clutching a stuffed dolphin and a dolphin-shaped balloon in front of a dolphin tank at the zoo.

I wonder if she likes dolphins. I smile.

My gaze flickers between Jack and the box, as the box grows steadily more empty. Finally, hesitantly, Jack pulls out an orange-brown envelope, which is bulky. Out of it, he pulls a 4x6 frame, and several unframed pictures.

All are of Teri.

Not Jack's granddaughter Teri, but Jack's late wife Teri. The woman is tall, with dark, short curly hair, a pixie nose and a radiant smile in each picture…except for one. The framed one. She seems to be leaning toward the camera in that one, as if she could jump right out of the portrait and say hello. Her eyes are clear, her face relaxed, her lips curled upward just slightly in the most serene smile.

I envy this woman, I realize. Not because she was Jack's wife. Not because she's Kim's mother. But because she has a kind of peace about her, a kind of innocence that I'll bet was untouched even in her horrible last day on this earth. Not to say that she was naïve or anything…I don't really know anything about her, except that she and Jack hit a rough spot in their marriage that they were working on repairing shortly before her murder.

I don't gamble, but if I did, I'd bet that their rough spot had something to do with Jack's work. Either she knew all about it and resented it, or he kept it from her, and she resented the secrets.

Out of all the things our line of work has taken from me, I'm glad it didn't have the opportunity to take away a marriage.

"Jack?" I say softly.

I've startled him out of his thoughts, not enough to make him jump, but enough for him to realize that I'm still here. He looks between me and the box, and the photos. "Sorry," he says. He starts to put the photographs of Teri back into the envelope. I put a hand on his arm, stopping him. He looks at me again, confused.

With the same hand, I reach over and pull the framed photograph of Teri Bauer from his fingers. I take it, and walk with it into the living room. As I walk, I realize that Teri and I have one small thing very much in common: we've both been loved and hurt by Jack Bauer.

I take the picture and look at the mantle in the living room. The mantle is a shelf that would traditionally be over a fireplace, but apartments don't typically have fireplaces. But this apartment has a mantle anyway, and mantles are places where you put pictures of your family. That is a family memory that doesn't hurt – the image of our old house with its fireplace mantle, covered end-to-end in pictures of Mom, Dad, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, cousins, greats…

One day, this mantle will have pictures of Kim and Stephen, and little Teri, and me and Jack, and maybe, at one point, even my family. But it ought to have this picture, too. I place the photograph of Teri onto the mantle – not in the center, by any means, but not at the very edge, either. She's somewhere around a quarter into the shelf, smiling that serene smile. It feels good to see her there.

I turn around to see Jack gaping at me. My stomach plummets. Oh shit. I didn't think about how Jack would feel about having a picture of his late wife on display. What if it's too painful to see every day? Have I just made a huge mistake and caused another jagged rift between us?

"Renee?" he asks hoarsely.

I swallow. "Mantles were important in my family," I say. "Every family member was represented, no matter how crowded the mantle got. And, well…" I shrug awkwardly. "She's Kim's mother. It seems like she should have a place."

Jack continues to stare. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. I'll give up cigarettes and…hell, I'll quit swearing too, if I can undo whatever damage I've just done. How much more can one relationship take, anyway, before it shatters?

I rush forward and squeeze his arm. "I'm sorry, Jack. We can take it down if you want. It was just a thought. I didn't mean –"

He cuts me off with kiss, just like he did when I was babbling about promises he didn't have to keep. Funny, how both situations were sparked by the memory of his late wife. Maybe she's up there rooting for us. The thought that the angel of his late wife might like me gives me some measure of comfort, even though I'm not sure angels exist and I'm not sure Teri Bauer would have approved of me at all.

Instead of continuing to kiss me like the last time, though, Jack pulls back, resting his forehead on mine. If this were a soap opera, he would say something profound, cheesy, and melodramatic, like, "Oh, _Renee_, you are the woman of my dreams!" But this isn't a soap opera – thank god – and Jack says, "Most women would feel insecure about having a picture of their boyfriend's late wife in the house."

I grin. I'm just too happy that he's not upset. "Well, I'm not most women." Besides, what's there to feel insecure about? Teri Bauer is dead. It's not like she's going to rise from the grave to start a catfight over who gets Jack. "I thought you were upset," I say.

"No," he says with a short laugh. "I'm just…shocked. You're truly amazing."

He squeezes his arms tighter around me. My sling hangs awkwardly between us, but the hug has never felt more right. I return the hug, the fingers of my left hand trailing over his back. I inhale deeply. One thing hasn't changed: being held by Jack makes me feel like everything – the cigarettes, my wound, my past – will be okay.

* * *

Everything is definitely not okay.

It's the middle of the night. Jack's out in the living room, still sleeping on the floor, although the situation has been made slightly better by the addition of a sleeping bag. He's probably sound asleep anyway, despite the discomfort he must feel from the floor. And I'm here in the bedroom, on the comfortable mattress, and I can't sleep a wink.

Because I want a…a _blasted_ _smoke_.

I start to fidget in place, because I can't roll over or flop over. I consider the painkillers, but that's a bad idea. I'm not in any pain right now and those things could easily become addictive. I think one addiction is bad enough, right now.

Although, being addicted to painkillers would be a lot more understandable than cigarettes… No. Christ. The need is making me think crazy. And it's not even real need – the drugs from the cigarettes are just making me feel like I need them.

It's hard to believe that the tobacco companies aren't richer than the gas companies.

Tomorrow, we are buying a lamp. A tall one, to stand over this bed so I can read when I'm up at god knows what hour trying to convince myself I don't want to smoke. Suddenly, an idea hits me. Quietly, I get out of bed and grab a book – in the dark, I'm not sure which one – trying to ignore the cigarettes that are just inches from my hand. I tiptoe to the master bathroom before I can change my mind and grab the pack. I wince as I close the door a little harder than I intended, and lock the door and flick on the light.

The light burns my eyes for a moment, and I blink furiously to open them up again. I look down at my hand. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer looks innocently up at me. I sigh. Fantastic. Family issues can substitute in for the cigarettes in keeping me awake at night.

I suppose that's not really fair, I muse as I flick through the worn paperback. My family wasn't that bad. They were great, for a while. Until my dad died. I loved my dad, up to and beyond the day he died. My mom did too – too much. That was the problem.

Someone knocks softly, and Jack speaks, in his tired gruffness, through the locked door. "Renee?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"…Does something have to be wrong for me to be in the bathroom?"

"No," Jack says, "but usually you don't slam the door when you need to use the bathroom at one in the morning."

Is that how late…early…it is? I could kill the inventors of cigarettes. If being a tax collector in the American Colonies was a tar-and-feathering offense, making those addictive little death sticks sure as hell should be, too. "I couldn't sleep," I admit.

"…Was it a nightmare?"

Yes. It is a nightmare. A freaking ridiculous nightmare. I keep thinking the mantra of the accidentally-pregnant teenager: "But I only did it once!" – Well, I guess if once is enough to get pregnant, then it's enough to get addicted…especially if you've already been addicted once before.

I would prefer being pregnant.

"Something like that," I whisper.

I'm not sure if Jack heard me until he says, "Can I come in?"

I lean over and rub my forehead onto the book in my lap, ignoring the stabbing pain that suddenly pierces through my wound. Then I get up and unlock the door. I step back as Jack opens the door. He's half naked, with black sweatpants on and no top. I'd think he looks sexy if I weren't so…well…tired. Pained. And seriously craving a freaking cigarette.

I look at him standing there, with tinges of worry in his equally tired expression, and suddenly I want to tell him. I _should_ tell him. I mean, we're talking about a former heroin addict. But…the moment passes as swiftly as it came, for I remember why he became a heroin addict. He did it to sustain his cover.

I started smoking back then because Vladimir was managing to piss me off and scare the shit out of me at the same time. I started smoking now because I thought I lost Jack. Both times were because of a guy. Not because someone was making me. Not because I had to. But because of a guy.

Forget understanding it. Would Jack even look at me the same way?

I can't help it anymore. I start to cry, and Jack guides my head to his shoulder, his arms wrapping around me. The wound burns in protest, but it's a weak protest in comparison to the storm of worthlessness raging inside my conscience.

* * *

Writer's Note: Oh, dear...things are looking grim for our favorite Walker. Hmm. Someone should hand her a box of chocolate. Chocolate is the cure for everything. Anyway, I wish I could write a more insightful note but I need to go pick up dinner. Hope this latest installment doesn't make you lose faith in this story, I have plans for these minions - I mean characters. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Wordlessly, Jack pulls me from the bathroom. Before I know it, we're on the bed. He's sitting up against the wooden head, and I'm curled between his legs, my face in his chest. The position makes my wound ache, and my sobs just multiply from there. Jack doesn't say anything at all. He just strokes my hair.

I haven't cried this hard since…since he kicked me out of the hotel room. I feel like my emotional filter's been strung up, shot, tarred, quartered, and blown up. By a nuclear bomb.

But none of that seems to matter to Jack. He just holds me, and eventually I run out of tears and things to sob about, and I drift asleep against his chest, with his hand still stroking my hair.

* * *

I wake up in the same position. Light spills into the room over us. I blink against the light; my eyes are puffy and raw, much like my nerves.

And I still want that damn cigarette.

I look up at Jack with my cheek still pressed against his chest. It would be wonderful if it were like the romance books, huh? Where the broken woman meets the man of her dreams and suddenly doesn't want what's bad for her anymore? Well, if anyone were to be my Antismoke, it would be Jack, but things don't work like that in the real world. Men, as wonderful and caring as men can be, are still only men, and cigarettes are still powerfully addictive little sticks of tobacco.

It occurs to me that he's probably going to want a shower after spending the night with my blubbering tears all over him. I close my eyes, embarrassment creeping in.

Suddenly, his chest rumbles with his voice. "Good morning."

I open them up again, and he's looking down at me. "Morning," I say. "It doesn't surprise me that you can sleep sitting up." After all, it can't be much worse than sleeping on the floor.

"I manage." He drops a kiss on my head. "Do you want to talk about it."

The angel on my shoulder, in her infinite wisdom, says, "Tell him the truth. Tell him you smoke." The devil, in his infinite troublemaking, says, "Don't tell him the truth." The sad truth is, such cartoons are always depicted with the angel on the right shoulder, to symbolize the righteous path, and the devil on the left shoulder, to symbolize the path of wrongdoing. (As if the devil wasn't clue enough.) And my right shoulder's kind of painful right now.

"Not really."

"Okay." He kisses my head again. "Are you hungry?"

"Do we have anything to eat?"

"No breakfast-makings, but I can run out and get us something."

"Hmm. But that would require you getting up." And I'm very comfortable where I am, with the exception of the pain.

"It would," he agrees. Joy starts to slip into his voice. "Do you want me to stay here?"

I slide more fully against him and turn, so that my chest is flat against his. My wound pulses into his chest at the same rate as my heart. I'll change the bandage and take some painkillers…in a minute. "For a little while," I say.

Jack rubs a hand up and down my back. "As long as you need," he says.

* * *

Eventually I do move, and Jack notices my pained look. "Renee, honey, why didn't you tell me your wound was hurting?" he says.

I freeze for just a moment, and then smile. "You called me 'honey.'"

"I…I'm sorry."

Is he nuts? "No, it was nice. I've…" I look down momentarily. "I've kind of missed it."

"You have?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then, maybe I should say it more often."

"Okay."

We sit there for a while before Jack remembers what his original train of thought was. "I think a bandage change and some painkillers are just what the doctor ordered."

"I won't disagree with that," I say. "I need to take the antibiotics, too."

"Wait here." Jack kisses me once, simply, on the lips. "I'll be right back."

I want to flop back and sleep, but I know I'll do plenty of that once the painkillers enter my system. So I toy with a strand of hair, smiling when Jack comes back in, carrying a glass of water, fresh bandages, some kind of ointment, and two prescription pill bottles. "Here we are," he says. "Bandage first or painkillers first?"

"Better do the bandages first," I say.

"Are you sure? It's going to be painful."

"I'll fall asleep otherwise."

"Would that be so bad?" Jack asks.

"I don't understand what you mean," I say.

Jack slips one hand over mine. "Please, take the painkillers," he says. "Get some sleep. I'll take care of you while you're out."

I hesitate. Jack is more than capable of cleaning and bandaging a wound without my supervision, but…it's kind of, you know, my body. But I revert to my old mantra – "He can't earn my trust if I don't give him the chance" – and nod. "Okay. Hand over the painkillers...the antibiotics, too, then."

He hands over the bottles and I pop the caps, taking out one large, round antibiotic, and two slim painkillers. I swallow them down with water, and then look down at my shirt. "I guess I should take this off before I'm out," I say. "…Make it easier on you…"

I start to pull off the top when he stops me. "Let me," he says. It's not a request, but I know that if I refused he'd back off in seconds. But I don't refuse. I nod, and lift up my left arm as he slides the shirt up my body, and then down the right of my body so I don't have to move my right arm. I'm not wearing a bra, so my nipples wrinkle and harden in the cooler air, protesting. He stares at my breasts for a moment, but quickly meets my gaze again. There's the tiniest hint of a flush over his cheeks, which amuses me to no end for some reason.

My body is starting to feel fuzzy and warm from the painkillers, and the pain in my wound feels numb. I lay back, getting settled on the pillow. When my eyes start to flicker shut, Jack begins to peel off the soiled gauze bandage, and I surrender to sleep.

* * *

When I wake up, the sun has moved higher in the sky, so that the sunbeam isn't directly over the bed. I sit up. There's a fresh bandage over my wound, and I move my right arm experimentally. It doesn't make my wound hurt so much. So I get up and gingerly put on a fresh shirt and bra, using some movement of my right arm to get the job done. The smallest twinge of pain occurs. I smile, and finish getting dressed.

Before going to find Jack, I slip into the bathroom. Last night, it was a refuge for a smoker. Today, this morning…or afternoon, whichever the case may be…it's just a bathroom, with tiled walls and two sinks and a shower, tub and toilet. I brush my teeth and comb out my hair. I notice reddish tinges at my roots, and I consider letting it grow out into its natural color again. When I lost myself after torturing Wilson, I dyed it a dark color that didn't feel like me, because _I_ didn't feel like me.

Maybe it's time to lift the banishment off the things I used to enjoy. Like swimming. And bowling. I remember having a blast bowling. I grab a hair clip from my duffle and start to twist my hair up as I wander outside the bedroom. "Hey Jack?"

"Yeah?" He's in the kitchen, shuffling through a box.

"This complex has a swimming pool, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why? Do you like to swim?" he says, his eyes alert with interest.

"Yes," I say. "I haven't gone swimming in a long time, though." I'm not even sure if I packed my swimsuit…

"Well, why don't we check it out this afternoon?"

"Sure. What time is it?"

Jack checks his watch. "Ten after eleven. You didn't sleep long."

"A good…four hours, at least," I say.

"Yeah. Hey, do you feel up to shopping?" he asks. "The furniture from my old apartment should get here on schedule, but I only ordered the bed and table set. We could use a couch, lamps…things like that."

"Sure," I say. Part of me groans, disliking shopping with a passion, but part of me thinks it'll be better to get it over with. "Getting tired of sleeping on the floor?" I tease.

"Just a little," Jack says with a smile.

"Then let's hit the furniture store first."

* * *

Dear god in heaven. Let's never hit the furniture store again. Or, to be more accurate, the furniture _stores_.

My only requisite for a couch is this: something that won't break within a week of purchase. Jack, on the other hand, has a master plan for what the couch needs to be. We have tried twenty-two couches. Yes, twenty-two. I counted. He inspects every couch with a meticulous and methodical system. Too lumpy. Too poofy. Too firm. Too dark. Too white. Not leather.

Don't get me wrong, though – I'm not trying to say he shops like a woman. Although that's what it sounds like, he really doesn't. He attacks this task with such fervor, with an intensity that I'd thought was always reserved for his job. He's got that game face on, hounding the salespeople with questions.

This current one looks like he's about to cry. If I don't intercede, the kid will quit his job and sell everything he owns to be able to move to the other side of the country. So I stand and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Jack?"

He looks at me and his gaze immediately softens. "Yeah?"

"Come with me."

The salesman sighs with relief and hurries behind the counter as I lead Jack away. Jack tilts his head questioningly. "What's over here?"

"Nothing." I stop and turn to him. "You're scaring the salesmen." I feel an amused smile spread on my lips – because, well, I'm amused. Here's one perk to shopping that I never knew about.

"I'm what?"

I can't help it. I laugh. "Jack, that kid was about to cry." I take a discreet look around me to make sure no one's within earshot, and I murmur, "Relax. We'll find a couch, okay?"

"Yeah, I know." He turns and plops onto the nearest available piece of furniture, which happens to be a queen-sized bed, and I join him. Jack eases slightly, and my fingers trace his cheek as I kiss him. He deepens the kiss, and it feels good. He's a great kisser, and I haven't smoked in over twelve hours. I feel clean, and he tastes like coffee and toothpaste. Which sounds gross, but feels…wonderful.

I hear movement and crack open an eye to see the salesman disappearing around a bunk bed. I think the poor kid was too scared to say, "No sex on the furniture." The thought makes me chuckle, and our lips part.

"What's so funny?" Jack asks.

"Life."

* * *

Jack finally gets down to two couches: a short, black-leather couch, and a slightly longer tan leather one. "What do you think, Renee?" he asks.

"Definitely the tan one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. The black one's cozier for two, but the tan one will be more comfortable for you to sleep on 'til the bed gets here."

"Hmm, but if the black one's cozier for two, then why don't we get that one?" he murmurs, putting his hands on my hips and pulling me close. The salesman decides to disappear again.

"Because I don't intend for either of us to spend much time on the couch anyway," I say.

His eyes go a shade darker. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. Besides," I say with a less suggestive tone, "if Kim and little Teri come over to visit, the tan one will be more comfortable."

"I won't argue with any of that." We go up to the register and Jack orders the couch. On our way out, paperwork in hand, Jack pulls me into a cab and gives directions to another store.

"What are we looking for this time?" I ask.

"Curtains," he says, "for the bedroom."

I blink, and smile. "Good." I casually put a hand on his thigh. "We're going to need them."

* * *

Need rushes through my veins. We contain ourselves, barely, until we get into the apartment and close the door, and then we clash together in a hurricane of kisses, rubs and gasps. My lust has reared up and smacked down my addiction, and it feels so good, so great to want and need Jack more than those cigarettes.

We move toward the bedroom, shedding articles of clothing as we go in the cliché fashion often seen in chick flicks. Once we get into the bedroom, though, Jack pulls back, huffing slightly, and puts his forehead against mine. "Get comfortable on the bed," he says. "I'll take care of the curtains."

I smile and do what he says, leaning back on my left elbow, my right hand dangling over my belly as I watch him, half-naked, working on those curtains. The previous tenants left the rods in place, so it's really just a simple slide-on, and within minutes the dark maroon curtains are in place. Jack looks back at me with that lusty glint in his eye, as he closes the curtains completely. I chuckle, and lie back completely.

Then he comes and joins me on the bed, kneels over me. I ignore the twinges in my wound as I reach up for him, but he takes my hands and gently presses them back down to my sides. "Ssh," he says. "Let me take care of you."

I pause a moment, then relax beneath him. He kisses me sweetly and openly on the lips, once, twice, three times, and then slowly coaxes me into a whirl of passion.

* * *

Writer's Note: This story will remain T/PG-13, as always. This is about as close to "M" as I ever get; I'm not planning on venturing into the realm of M with this story, so younger adults are encouraged to continue reading if they're comfortable with strong sexual situations and language. Hope you enjoyed this installment. :)


	6. Chapter 6

We tangle together in the aftermath of our lovemaking. Jack smoothes hair away from my sweaty brow. "Are you okay?" he asks. He curls around my left shoulder, his lips near my ear.

I turn my head to face him. "Mmm-hmm."

"How's your wound?"

"What wound?" I ask, and we laugh.

He kisses my lips. "Do you want me to get you anything?"

"Mmm-mmm." I shake my head.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" I shake my head again and laugh. I put a hand across his body and grasp his hip. He chuckles and I roll over, partially atop him. His hand travels up my arm and hovers over my wound before lightly resting on the gauze.

I see the guilt in his eyes, and I want to banish it. "Jack." His gaze flicks up to meet my eyes. "It wasn't your fault."

"You wouldn't have even been there if I had just opened my eyes and considered the possibility that you were telling the truth. After all you've done, after all you've been through, that was the least I could've done," he says.

"Yeah, maybe so," I say. "But I understand why you didn't." If I've been through hell in my life, Jack's hell is triple, and a lot of it did have something to do with his family. Like, the people that kidnapped his family. The daughter that abandoned him. The brother and father that really didn't do squat to get him out of China. The brother and father that proceeded to try to kill him upon his return.

"Look," I say, before he can say something else. "Why don't we put the blame fully where it belongs: on the man that shot me." I cover his hand with my own. "This is his fault, and no one else's."

"I suppose you're right," Jack says.

I lean over. My lips hover over his. "I know I'm right.

* * *

The couch arrives around ten the next morning. They had one in stock yesterday and Jack paid for speed delivery. I try to stay out of the way while the workers unload the couch and prepare to take the heavy piece of furniture up to our apartment.

And what's more "out of the way" than three blocks over? I took Jack's hand and squeezed it, saying that I was going for a walk and I'd be back soon. That seems to be my regular cover, now.

I light a cigarette. This was the perfect opportunity to get away to smoke. With the movers handling the furniture, Jack won't want the apartment empty. It's not smart to leave your home open when there's stuff around for the taking. So here I am, letting him do the work of babysitting while I'm smoking.

The bitter, bitchy part of me thinks it serves him right. The sensible part of me is trying to remind the bitter, bitchy part that it's not his fault.

I drag in a deep breath of cigarette. Was I always this crazy, or are the death sticks doing this to me?

At least I'm not addicted to something worse. I flick away the ash from the end of the cigarette. I could be addicted to the painkillers. Or heroin. Or morphine. Or alcohol. At least cigarettes don't screw around with your personality…much. And it's easier to hide a cigarette addiction than it is to hide a morphine addiction, or an alcohol addiction…but maybe, in a way, that's also why it's eviler of the two…three…twenty evils.

I start walking back to the apartment, and crush the cigarette butt in the ash tray above the trash can in front of a clothing store. I cross my arms, continuing on.

I'm going to have to tell him at some point. I'm going to have to. Not just for the sake of our relationship, though – for my own health. A few cigarettes aren't going to hurt you, but they lay the foundation for years of tobacco use, and it gets harder and harder to quit with each inhale. I know this. I've seen this. I've experienced it.

Recovery from an addiction is always more likely to happen if you're honest with yourself and have a partner that's honest with you. I had Janice last time, who barely knew me when she saw me outside work with a smoke; she marched up to me, snatched the thing from my mouth and smashed it beneath her heel, and said, "You're too damn smart to smoke." She then babysat me in my first few support group meetings, checked my bag and desk for packs or lighters, and often dropped by my apartment with dinner to unofficially sniff around. Every time she caught a pack or a lighter in my possession, she'd be right there to help me trash it or flush it.

I have to hand it to her. She never threw any of them, the cigarettes, the lighters, out herself. She always left that to me, knowing that I needed to be the one to conquer the addiction. But, knowing that addiction is a real son of a bitch with a killer right hook, she always had my back.

And I repaid her by pulling a gun on her.

* * *

I don't have Janice anymore, but as I open the door to our apartment, I realize that I've got Jack. And that feels good.

He's leaning against the back of the couch, which faces the blank wall of the living room. He straightens, and smiles. "What do you think?" he asks.

I walk up to him and hug him. I make sure not to kiss him, even though I'd like to – there's no way he wouldn't taste the smoke in my mouth. I'm surprised he hasn't smelled it on my breath or clothes yet, although I have been careful to brush my teeth immediately, and never wear the same clothes I smoked in without washing them first.

"I think it's great." I let go of him and step back. "I'm just going to go change. I'm all sweaty from the heat – I guess I'm just not used to L.A. weather yet!"

Jack grins, despite the slightly confused look in his eye. "It's going to get a lot hotter than this. Just wait 'til July."

"Can't wait!" I say sarcastically as I step into the bedroom and close the door. I lean against it, blowing out a sigh tinged with both relief and worry. He's not suspicious…yet. But I saw that look in his eye. It's that look he gets when he senses that something's off but he just can't put a finger on it. I hope he attributes whatever he thinks is off with me to the probability that I don't really trust him yet.

Shit. That was an awful thing to hope – an awful thing to _think_. What a bitch I am. Well, sometimes. I guess this is one of those times.

I quickly pull on a fresh tank top and khakis, brush my teeth and wipe off my face. When I join Jack back in the living room, he fingers the strap of my shirt. "I've never seen you in a tank top before," he comments. "Looks nice."

I flush, and not entirely from the heat. "Thanks."

"You looked nice before, too, though."

Schooling my expression, I smile, even though I'm inwardly wincing. It sounds like he's picked up a trail. Well, the best way to lose a bloodhound is not to leave a scent, so I just repeat, "Thanks," in a murmuring tone. No other excuses, no unneeded information.

He "hmms," and then nuzzles me, nose-to-nose, before kissing me deeply.

The kiss feels good, but I feel bad. I know I'm going to tell him eventually, so why bother with the continued deception when it'll only make things worse? That's what my sensible side keeps asking, anyway.

The realistic side of me knows that if I'm ever going to tell him, it's going to be on my terms. My setting, my timing, my choice. Because even smokers need a false sense of security before doing something really, really nerve-wracking.

* * *

Writer's Note: Sorry about the lateness of the update. My goal was to shoot for an update a day, but life just sorta stepped in the way for this chapter. Might give another update later this afternoon. We'll see how it goes. :) Hope you enjoyed ch. 6!


	7. Chapter 7

Jack and I eat Chinese take-out quietly. There's not much to say about a day we've spent, for the most part, entirely in each other's company. I can just imagine how well the conversation might go: Hey, Renee, so how was your walk? Oh, fine, Jack, just busy keeping secrets from you! Yeah? That's nice.

When we're done, I clear the…err…counter…and Jack loads and starts the dishwasher. "Want to go out for dessert?" Jack asks. "I know this great bakery that makes the best shortcake."

It's so unusual to see his face light up like this. For mere moments, it's almost as if he never joined the military or CTU, as if he'd never been tortured by the Chinese or forced to do unspeakable things for the greater good. It's kind of contagious, because I feel myself returning the smile. "Sure," I say on a chuckle.

He grabs his keys and his wallet, and wraps an arm around my shoulder, and walks me out. The door closes behind us, and I try to ignore the fact that the cigarettes are practically calling me, pleading like a desperate mistress. He locks the door, and I shove my hands in my pockets, biting my lip as I smile closed-mouthed back at him.

A girl, maybe eight or ten, stares at us from around the corner for a moment. She's staring at us with the strangest, least trusting look on her face. Then her little face disappears around the corner, and she's not there when we pass the hall to go to the stairs, and I wonder if I completely imagined her. Jack doesn't seem to have noticed, so I press my hands harder into my pocket, as if the pressure would keep me from breaking his hold on me to run back to the apartment for my cigarettes.

* * *

Even at eight p.m., the Lil' Annie's Bakery is bustling with a dull roar of customers. Jack orders us shortcake to share, because I'm not that hungry, and within a few minutes the pastry, topped with strawberries and, at my insistence, raspberries, is in front of us at a small corner table for two.

"Here ya are, loves. Anything else?" a motherly waitress asks us.

"No thank you," Jack says. I nod in agreement, and she walks off to help another customer.

"You first," he says, gesturing at the shortcake.

"Okay," I say. I fork a small part of the cake, grabbing a bit of strawberry and a bit of raspberry along the way, and lift it to my lips. The taste explodes in my mouth. "Holy crap!" I say, covering my mouth to hide a bit of the rudeness of speaking with one's mouth full.

Jack's grinning. "I told you."

I swallow, the sweetness lingering in my mouth. "You were right," I say. "Well, dig in."

I fork off another bit, and he teases, "Should I order a second one?"

"Funny," I say. The tart sweetness of the cake is doing strange things to my mouth, keeping it stretched into a big smile.

Jack picks up his own fork and joins me. Between the two of us, the shortcake is history within a few minutes. I look up, and Jack's looking at me with this tilted smile, like he knows something I don't. "What?" I ask.

"You've got something right…here…" He reaches over and lightly wipes at the corner of my lips with his index finger, and withdraws it, a smudge of whipped cream at the tip.

On impulse, I reach for his hand, and pull it back to me. I slip his finger into my mouth – not enough to be blatantly and embarrassingly sexual, but to the first knuckle. It's just enough to be suggestive, and his eyes darken in that way that makes them look midnight blue. Carefully, I slip my lips off his finger and release his hand, which lingers in the air for a moment, before joining its partner, which is clutching the edge of the table.

He swallows. "Home?" he asks.

Home. Despite the underlying suggestion, that word has a completely innocent connotation to me. It's wonderful to hear that…home. And even though there's only a couch and a borrowed bed and not much else, I realize that in just a short few days, that apartment really has become home to me.

I smile. "Absolutely."

* * *

Life sucks.

This is true for everyone, but it seems to be especially true for people like me and Jack. For me, life sucks one minute and is amazing the next. It all ties back into the cigarettes. Life is amazing in the hours of the morning and afternoon, when I'm trying to keep myself from smoking. But one smoke, usually in the early evening, makes the rest of the day suck or mostly suck, until the next morning, when the cycle repeats on a fresh start.

Right now, life sucks.

It's around four thirty or five, and I'm at the usual smoking spot a few blocks away. I pull out my fifth cigarette and light it. I'm not even a minute into it, though, when I across the street and see Janice standing on the corner, kissing a man I don't remember ever seeing. My jaw drops and my cigarette nearly falls – that, I save. I put it back in my mouth and puff nervously.

The last time I saw Janice, she was cuffing herself to a pole. I never even glanced at her as I tore Alan Wilson out of the FBI. I never expected to see her again.

I'm about to run and hide when she spots me. Surprised, she breaks off her kiss and says something to the man, and before I know it, she's jogging across the street, trying not to get hit by a car as I stare at her in shock. I finger my cigarette, and pulling it in and out, in and out, simultaneously wanting to hide it, and wanting to keep smoking it. And then she's standing here, not even three feet away from me. "Renee," she says.

"Janice." She used to be a friend, I remember – a very good one. My eyes travel over her face. Same old Janice. My eyes flicker behind her, to the man who waits for her, back on the other side of the street. New man.

"I've, uh, been married for the past three months," she says. Then her voice gets that annoyed edge in it. "Which you would know if you ever bothered to pick up the phone…ever."

"Yeah… I'm sorry. It's no excuse," I say as she crosses her arms with a tilted eyebrow, "but on my way over to the dark side, I kind of ended up in hell." Wow. I can actually joke about that? I never expected to be able to. Of course, it's not your typical thing to laugh at, torturing people.

"Yeah, I was kind of worried about that when you pulled a gun on me and made me handcuff myself to a pole."

I wince at the memory. "Yeah…sorry." It's a pathetic apology in a pathetic whisper, but it's about all I can manage.

She looks like she's about to say something else, when she notices my cigarette and heaves a sigh that could put a teenager's mother to shame. "And you're smoking again? _Renee_."

"Yeah…" Today seems to be the day for remorseful one-syllable agreements.

Janice sighs again, her nostrils flaring in that annoyed, bookish fashion of hers. Before that can light into an argument, I ask, "So, what're you doing here in L.A.?" I reluctantly crush the partial cigarette beneath my shoe. My fingers twitch for it, but really, it's the least I can do. Janice's been through enough without having to breathe my smoke, too.

"I'm here on vacation with my husband, Rob." She gestures behind her, flashing him a grin. He waves awkwardly at us from the corner. "What're you doing here? Last I knew, you were in New York."

"I, uh, actually live here now."

"Really? What caused this move?"

"Jack." I really could be more eloquent with my explanation, or at least, a little less pathetic, but monosyllables seem to be easiest right now.

"_Bauer_?"

I smile one-sidedly. "Yeah."

"You're serious."

"Yes."

"Well, I guess felons relate to felons."

I give her a half-hearted glare and she puts her hands up in surrender. "Sorry," she says.

"Say what you want about me, but Jack's put a light back in my life that I never expected to see again."

"Fair enough, seeing as I fully blame him for taking it out to begin with."

My fingers continue to twitch for another cigarette as my frustration goes up a notch. "That's not fair, Janice. It was my choice, and it's not like it was the first time I ever tortured someone."

"What? When, pray tell, was the first time, then? Because that sounds like something I'd remember."

"Russia," I say. "You don't want to know more than that."

Understanding flashes across her face, and she looks down momentarily, before meeting my eyes again. "Renee, whatever you did in Russia, you did to keep your cover. That was your job. It wasn't your fault." She eyes the pack clutched in my right hand. "Well, except for those," she says.

I look down at my cigarettes. There are only eleven left. "Yeah, well, these were a mistake I made…twice. I'm good at making mistakes, Janice."

Janice closes her eyes and rubs her nose. "The little vein in the side of your neck is sticking out like it does when you need one."

I hadn't noticed. "I'm trying to stick to one a day. It's not working." I fumble in my pocket for the lighter, feeling ashamed at giving in.

"You're not armed, are you?"

"Of course not, Janice," I say.

"Good. I value my life." She snatches the box from my hand and marches it to the nearest trash can.

"Janice!" I exclaim as she smacks the cigarettes into the can.

She smacks my hands away, keeping me from doing something embarrassing – like reaching into the can to salvage the cigarettes. "Renee, I did that because believe it or not, I still care about you." She pauses and then does a nod-shrug combination, saying, "And because I kind of wanted to pay you back for pulling a gun on me a year ago, but the good intention was still there."

I look unhappily between the trash can and my old friend. "Yeah, I know," I say, my voice cracking with self-disgust.

Janice pulls me away from the trash can. "Tell me about Jack," she says.

"What?"

"I'm playing the old 'distract Renee away from cigarettes' game. Now, how's Jack?"

"I thought you didn't approve of me being here with him," I say.

"I didn't say that. I was mouthing off because you abandoned me and pissed me off and I missed you anyway. Truth be told, I think that if anyone can pull you back from self-destruction, it's Jack. Does he know you're smoking again?"

"He never knew I used to in the first place. No, he doesn't know."

"I think you should tell him," Janice says.

"Oh, yeah, that'll go over well. 'Hey, Jack, when you accused me of losing your granddaughter and kicked me out of your hotel room, I went and had a smoke.'" The look on Janice's face makes me freeze. Shit. I hadn't meant to tell her about that.

"He did what?"

I sigh. This fire will take a while to put out.

I want a cigarette.

* * *

After entirely appraising Janice on the incident and issuing a thousand reassurances that I wasn't in an abusive relationship, we parted ways. Janice wasn't ready to forgive me yet, and I can understand why. So I gave her my address and told her that I was here. Not waiting to be her best friend – I'd given up on that a long time ago – but if she ever wanted to talk or anything. She could send me a letter with how to call her, and I'd do it, the minute I got the letter.

Her last piece of parting advice was, "If Jack's the man you think he is, you should tell him. If he's even half the man you think he is, he'll understand."

Truer words were never spoken. But this is also true: I don't know if I _can_.

When she started to walk away, she stopped just on the edge of the curb, and then doubled back, surprising me by strangling me in a bear hug. I'd forgotten how fierce this woman can be. "Just…take care of yourself, damn it," she said.

If even the picture of morality, the voice-of-the-Constitution Janice, could still care about me, then maybe I'm worth saving after all.

And yet...on my way back to the apartment, I step back inside that 7-11 and buy another pack of cigarettes. Because I'm in deep now, and I should be able to help it, but I can't.

* * *

"You'll never guess who I ran into," I say as I close the door behind me.

"Who?" Jack asks from the counter. A newspaper is spread out on it, titles exclaiming death and despair and taxes and marriages, not necessarily in that order.

"Janice."

"No kidding?"

"Yep," I say, nodding.

"How is she?"

"She's fine. She's…ah…married now."

"Good for her. She struck me as stuffy when we worked on that crisis, but I liked her. She reminded me a little bit of Chloe – except that she wasn't willing to jump through illegal hoops as quickly as Chloe will," he muses, looking back down at the paper.

"Heh…yeah…"

He looks back up at me, studying me. "You don't seem too happy about seeing her again," he comments.

"No, I am, it's just…" I shrug. "She hasn't exactly forgiven me for what I did to her."

"If she cares, she'll come around."

"I hope so." I blow out a sigh. "I'm just going to…" I wave in the direction of the hall. "…use the bathroom." I nod my head for no reason in particular and turn to go down to the bedroom, when…

I feel something slide out of my pocket and hit the hardwood floor with a soft "thunk" that seems to be the loudest sound in the room. Papers shift on the counter, and as silence ensues, I realize with a deep dread that there's no way Jack hasn't spotted my pack of cigarettes, lying on the floor for him, god and the walls to see.

* * *

Writer's Note: o_o Hmm. This could get gnarly. Or not. I don't know. *innocent smile*


	8. Chapter 8

I cover my nose and mouth with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to just disappear into the floor. My eyes water with tears that I'm determined not to shed, but Jack's voice makes two of them slip rapidly down my cheeks. "Renee?" he says. His voice is carefully, purposely neutral. It reminds me of how he speaks in the beginning of an interrogation – right before he starts yelling at the uncooperative criminal.

But I'm not an uncooperative criminal. He's not going to yell at me or threaten me…I don't think. My mind flitters back to the day Teri was kidnapped, and then I close my eyes. No. Those were entirely different circumstances. He's not going to yell at me or push me around just for this. I have to believe that.

I feel and hear Jack's footsteps, and soon he's behind me, fingers gently brushing my bent elbows. "Renee?" he says again, his voice softer now, and more upset.

"How badly do you hate me?" I ask. I hate that my voice has that deep, cracking upset tone to it.

"I don't hate you at all," Jack says. "But, honey…the walks. The excessive showers. That's what those were about, isn't it?"

I wish he wouldn't sound so hurt. "Yes," I admit. My fingers almost throb, as though my emotional hurricane were manifesting itself physically. I wipe furiously at my tears, trying to ignore how devastated I am. But am I more devastated that he knows, or that he found out this way?

"Why didn't you just tell me you smoke?"

"Why do you think, Jack?" I pull myself from his grasp and whirl around. "Would you have told me?"

"Yes."

That makes me laugh bitterly. "Right. Like I'm sure you told Kim when you were addicted to heroin." I gasp at the same time that his face hardens, and I can't believe I went and brought that up. "I'm sorry," I breathe. "I don't know why I said that."

"You're right," he says. "In a way, you're right. But that's different."

"Oh, sure, smoking's legal, but it's just as bad," I say.

"No, it's not. Heroin screws with your mind and body. It lowers your defenses and clouds your mind, your judgment, everything." Jack bends down and picks up the unopened pack of cigarettes. "At least with each cigarette you smoke, you don't have to worry that you might not be able to keep your head clear enough to do your job so you won't get somebody killed. And, yeah, at least these are legal."

I close my eyes and tilt my head away from the cigarettes. I hate them and I want them and I "need" them so badly… "Okay, so cigarettes are a baby addiction compared to heroin," I snap. "That doesn't make them better." My eyes flicker between Jack's eyes and the pack in his hand.

"No, it doesn't," he says gently. "But Renee…you could have told me."

"Maybe I should've. I couldn't."

"Why not? Renee, you can tell me anything." He puts the pack down on the counter behind him.

Anything except something that I know he'll take himself to blame for… "I don't want to talk about this right now," I say. Maybe if I can evade the subject long enough, he'll grow tired of trying and give up.

Right, and pink elephants will bounce into the room. Didn't the south lose the Civil War because of that tactic? Gray never looked good on me…

"Why not now? If not now, then when?" Jack presses. "This is important."

"I know!" Renee Zadan's temper slowly severs itself calculatingly, but Renee-the-Addicted Walker's temper snaps in two just like Jack's does. I go around him and snatch the cigarette pack off the counter. I just need a few minutes to think…to breathe. Well, breathe cigarettes, anyway.

"Renee?"

"I'll be back in a little while."

"Renee!"

* * *

There's no need for me to walk three blocks over now that my secret is out. I go downstairs and into the open, airy quad. I can see the pool on the other side of the large complex. Kids are jumping and laughing in it in the dusk hours, and parents are starting to call to them from the windows.

I break into the new pack and stuff the plastic in my pocket, before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

A minute passes, and then the same girl I'd seen a few days ago stopped and stared at me. She had a basketball under her arm. Her eyes locked on the cigarette between my fingers.

To break the silence, I say, "Smoking's bad for you." I feel like a hypocrite, and bring the cigarette back to my lips for another inhale.

"Then why do you do it?" she asks. I swear, she doesn't know me well enough to have that accusatory tone.

"I smoke because…" I search for the right words. There are too many ways to explain it, and all are far too long and too sensitive for a child's ear. "I smoke because I'm addicted to it," I say finally. It's the shortest and most truthful answer I can think of, and for some reason, it's important to me that I be truthful with this sullen-looking girl.

"Why don't you stop being addicted?"

Out of the mouth of babes. "I want to," I say. "It's hard. There's a drug in these called nicotine, and what it does is trick your body into feeling like it needs more of it, even though you really don't. It's really hard to resist that drug, kiddo."

"Don't call me that," she says angrily, and I lower my cigarette in surprise.

"Well, okay. What's your name, then?"

She doesn't speak for a moment, and then she says, "Tania."

"That's a nice name."

"My friends call me Tanni."

"Am I a friend?" I ask, with a small smile. I don't really expect her to say yes.

Tania appears to think about it for a minute. Then she asks, "Are you going to hurt me with that?" She points at my cigarette, and her sleeve slips back with the movement of her arm, revealing round little scars. Suddenly, I want to throw up. Cigarette burns.

"Honey, I might have trouble keeping myself away from these cigarettes, but I would die before I ever, _ever_ hurt you, with a cigarette or anything else, for that matter."

Tania tilts her head at me, and her gaze is calculating, as though she's weighing the truthfulness of my response. "Then you're a friend," she says. "I gotta go." She runs off without asking my name, and I realize that it's nearly dark out. I flick away the ash from my cigarette, take one last puff, and throw it on the ground. I rub my foot on it and head back up to the apartment.

* * *

When I open the door and slip in, I still have no idea what I'm going to say to Jack or how I'm going to say it. I don't know what mood he'll be in, either.

I don't see him in the kitchen or living room, so I go down the hall to the bedroom. Jack has his face in his hands, and he's sitting on the bed. When I walk in, he looks up, sighing silently and heavily, judging by the rise and fall of his shoulders.

I lean against the doorway, and force myself to meet his gaze, no matter how hard it is. "I'm sorry," I say.

"Are you ready to talk now?" he asks quietly.

I'll never be ready. "Yes." I walk over to him. "Can I sit down?"

"Of course."

The bed's sagging a bit beneath our weight. "I feel torn," I say. "Part of me wants to tell you everything, the whole story, start to finish, and part of me…well, just wants to crawl under a rock." I laugh hollowly. He stays silent. "Earlier you told me you don't hate me at all. Is that still true?" I ask. I'm almost afraid of the answer.

"Of course it is." Jack's hand slips over mine. "I don't hate you. I don't even dislike you. I'm upset that you felt like you needed to hide things from me, but…" He sighs audibly now. "I understand why you did." I'm not sure he does.

"I want to stop."

"I'll help you. Whatever you need…"

Minutes tick by. "So now what do we do?" I ask. The question sounds a little more helpless than it did the first time I asked it.

Jack looks at me, and lifts up my chin with his fingers. He leans in and I try to pull away. "No, Jack, I haven't…" His look silences me, even though I want to scream, "I haven't brushed my teeth or anything! Don't kiss me! My mouth is a fucking ashtray!" His eyes close and he continues to lean in. My eyes close, too, involuntarily. Next thing I know, his lips are on mine, coaxing my mouth open, and it feels like he's everywhere. Tongue, lips, fingers… He kisses me so deeply. I tremble, because even though he hasn't taken off a stitch of clothing, I've never felt more exposed – or so loved.


	9. Chapter 9

Writer's Note: Thank you for all your fantastic reviews. :) Sorry about the delay in the update. I've been pretty preoccupied with college stuff, but I've got all my classes set, so now all I have to do is find a job, buy books, and show up in August. xD And, of course, finish this story.

* * *

"Renee?" Jack calls from down the hall.

I'm in the bedroom, curled on the bed with my feet tucked under me, reading a book. I look up. "Yeah?" I say.

"The furniture from New York is here."

I scramble up and pad down the hall, my book forgotten. "Need help?" I ask.

Jack flashes me a grin. "Just in arrangement. No carrying." Although my wound has been giving me only minimal pain of late, he still insists that I take it easy. Being babied was – is – driving me to smoke, and I told him so…to which he just got that sullen look with his lips pursed flat, and he said in a calm voice, "Fine. Damage your muscles, then." He'd put no dare on the table, used no sarcasm or pointed tones, but I got the picture, and he was right. Is right.

I don't have to like it, though. "Okay," I agree, wrinkling my nose at him.

He puts a hand on my arm and kisses the nose I just wrinkled at him. "Thank you," he says simply.

"Where do you want the table set?" one of the movers asks. He looks young to have such a manual and poorly-paying job, but I suppose kids in college will do anything to keep putting themselves through for their degrees. That line of thought reminds me of the jobs I'd had to keep myself in college – planting trees, digging trenches for construction sites, waitressing, and my more favored jobs, stocking cans in the local grocery and filing papers in the D.A.'s office.

"Kitchen," Jack says, nodding. The boys nod and lift the table with muffled grunts. Jack disappears into the hall after they come in, and brings in the two chairs.

"You don't have to do that, sir," one of them protests. "That's our job."

"Don't worry about it, kid," Jack says. "I never like to stand around uselessly. Not that standing around in itself is useless," he's quick to add, probably seeing the dark cloud over my head striking lightning at him. "You're telling us where to put all this, remember?"

"Hmm. Nice save," I say grudgingly.

The college boys hide grins behind their hands as they hightail it into the hall for the bed. A moment later, they're carrying in Jack's queen-sized mattress. "The bedroom's in the last room on the left, down the hall," I instruct. As they make their way down the hall, I peek out into the hall.

Jack ordered more than the bed and table set. There's also the nightstand and his T.V., and the T.V. table and various electronics that go with it, a couple of lamps, and some more boxes. As if our apartment weren't full of boxes enough already.

I size up the nightstand. It's tall and square. I put my left arm around it – it's the perfect size for what I have in mind. I hug it onto my hip and try to lift it.

Jack fills the doorway, arms crossed. I sigh on my next exhale. "You're not going to be able to lift that one-handed," he says. "Even I need two hands to move it."

I lift go of it and sigh. "Fine. What _can _I do then? – and don't say 'show us where to put stuff,'" I say. "I know that you know as well as I do where things are supposed to go."

Jack picks up a box. "You can carry this."

"What's in it?" I ask, taking it.

"Pillows."

* * *

Although I was initially annoyed with my limitations, I knew Jack was right to keep me away from the heavy stuff. Especially since the strain from carrying a few boxes – the rest a little heavier than pillows – caused my wound to slightly burn in protest. Once the furniture was in, Jack paid the movers to take Kim's spare twin back to her house.

"Looks like we've got a lot to do," Jack says.

"Yeah," I agree. The number of boxes had fairly doubled.

"Where do you want to start?"

With a cigarette, but I don't say this. I smile. "Let's start with the bedroom. I've kind of missed that bed."

Jack grins. "I've missed it, too."

"You would – you've been in a sleeping bag for the past week."

"I didn't mind."

"I know."

"Well, let's get to it." He takes my hand and we go down the hall.

The bedroom's in no better condition than the rest of the apartment. "Pick a box, any box," Jack jokes. He grabs one and uses his key to open it. I meander to the bed and look over one of the boxes placed haphazardly on the mattress.

"Uh, wait, not that one."

"Why?" I ask. "What's in it?"

"Old high school memorabilia, yearbooks and such. You're not allowed to look at it," he says with a serious look on his face.

"Well, why not?" I say incredulously.

"You'll realize I'm too old for you and head for the hills." He grins, but he looks like he's only half joking.

I snort. "I know exactly how old you are. You're only fifty-two. You are not too old for me." He give a "humph," and I walk over and hug him from behind. "Hey, you're ten times the man people half your age are," I say. "Besides, I'm hardly a spring chicken myself."

"You're thirty-eight. That's a fifteen year difference." I'm about to refute that point when Jack covers my hands with his, pressing them against his abs, and says, "I just…my love life went south years ago…when I was thirty-eight, in fact. I'm old and I'm getting older. I've made mistakes, and I'm going to make more." He turns in my arms and lightly grasps my hips. "You've already agreed to look past my last mistake, even if you haven't forgiven me for it. I guess I'm just wondering when you're going to realize what a waste of time I am."

I give him a hard look for a moment. "Jack, the last time I said something as incredibly stupid as that, you said to me, 'We really are perfect for each other.'" I smile. "Well, Jack, we really are perfect for each other."

Jack's mouth opens into the slightest of "o"s – more like an olive shape, really – and then he closes it, and kisses my forehead. "Okay, you win," he says, mimicking exactly my words from that day.

* * *

After two hours of unpacking, the bed is made with fresh sheets, the furniture is all exactly where it should be, and most of our clothes are in the closet. And I'm lying back on the bed, thoroughly tired with my wound starting to do that slight throbbing. It's going to snowball if I don't deal with it, so I sit up with a groan, resolving to find Jack's Tylenol. I don't want to finish those painkillers Dr. Shaw prescribed for me. I'm still taking the antibiotics, and thankfully it hasn't gotten infected, but the pain isn't severe enough to warrant such strong drugs, and I don't want to get addicted.

Not to something else, anyway.

Magically, Jack walks in with a glass of water, and a cupped hand that I just know is holding something that'll make the pain stop. "Want these?" he asks, holding out his cupped hand to me. I look, and it's neither Tylenol, nor the prescription drugs, but Advil.

"Yes," I say, surprised. "When did you get these?"

"When I was out grocery shopping the other week," he says, dropping them into my hands. I take the glass of water and wash them down. "I remembered from your last period that you prefer Advil for strong pain, so I grabbed some then. I noticed you've been off the painkillers the doctor gave you, and when you looked so pained, I figured you'd appreciate some relief."

"I do. Thank you."

"Do you feel like lunch? Kim wants to bring something over."

"Sure. Did the bed get back to her place okay?"

Jack nods. "They just finished putting it back in the guest room. Kim wants to bring Teri, too. Is that okay?" He looks thrilled at the prospect of seeing his granddaughter.

"Of course," I say. It's not a lie to make him feel better. Kim and her family are welcome any time – well, within reason. I wouldn't want them walking in on us having sex or anything… That would be more than a little embarrassing for all involved.

"Great." He gives me a tender kiss and then steps back, a smile on his face. "I'll give her a call and let her know. If she leaves in ten minutes, she'll be here around one."

I'm tempted…so very tempted…to go out for a smoke, but the choice is between doing that or sitting back and waiting for the Advil to do its job. It'll only take about half an hour for the Advil to work, but by the time it does kick in, Kim'll be here. And I'm not really interested in greeting her with cigarette breath.

After lunch. I'll get through lunch. I have to. Then I'll smoke.

* * *

"Grandpa! Renee!"

The sound of Teri's adorable four year old voice puts a smile on my face. Teri runs to Jack first, reaching out in the universal child's "pick me up" signal. He does, swinging her around with a bitten-back grunt.

Kim follows closely behind her, smiling at me as I close the door. She puts down the bag she's carrying. "Hi Renee." She hugs me gingerly, like I'm a glass doll. "How's your wound?" she asks when she steps back.

"It's better. I don't need the sling and Advil is taking the pain away, so…" I shrug.

"Good," she says emphatically.

"Renee, you're all better!" Teri says, reaching out from within Jack's arms.

Jack steps closer and I put my hand against hers. My hand totally eclipses hers. "Yep, all better," I say.

"Will _you_ hold me?"

Jack swings her around again, out of my reach. "Not today, sweetheart," he says. "Renee's better, but she's not okay enough to lift you."

I roll my eyes – I wasn't going to try to hold her. Kim notices and muffles a giggle. Jack sets Teri down and Teri stands in front of me with the quizzical look of a toddler. After a moment, she says, "She looks okay to me," then shrugs, and wanders off into the apartment.

"She must be the smart one in the family," I comment. This warrants a playful whack from my man, and more chuckles from Kim.

"Well, I brought Mexican," Kim says, picking up the bag.

"I'll set the table."

I move toward the kitchen, but Jack puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'll do that," he offers.

"I can handle a few plates, Jack," I say.

"I know you can." He takes the bag from Kim. "Why don't you two go hunt down my granddaughter? We haven't childproofed the place yet, so who knows what she's gotten into." Kim groans and looks over the couch first, before moving down the hall.

I give Jack a knowing smile. "You win again, Mr. Bauer," I mouth. He smirks. And he has won – one battle in the war of preventing me from ever lifting a finger. It partially annoys the hell out of me, but…in a way, it's really sweet. I follow Kim down the hall.

Kim found Teri in the master bathroom, where the little girl had enthusiastically started going through a bag filled with cleaning supplies. "Gotcha, cutie," Kim says, lifting Teri into her arms. She turns to me. "I hope you don't mind that I came into your bedroom," she says as an afterthought.

"Not at all," I say. "The door was wide open, and finding Teri is more important than a little bit of privacy."

She bounces Teri for a moment, then says, "Dad really likes you."

I smile at that slight understatement. "I think he does, too." I look around and cross my arms. "Lunch'll get cold." Turning, I intend to lead the way back to the kitchen when Kim stops me with a word.

"Renee."

I turn, suddenly a little nervous. "Yes?"

"I know something bad – really bad – happened between you and my dad the day…" Her voice trails off, her gaze dropping to the girl in her arms, pointedly. "Stephen won't tell me what it is, and the last time I spoke to Dad, he said he wanted to talk to you before telling me anything." She rushes to add, "I'm not going to ask you to tell me about it, but I just wanted to say…whatever happened, thank you for staying, for Dad. I know it means the world to him, and after Mom…Audrey…he deserves to be happy."

"I agree." I let a meaningful pause trickle by, and then say, "Lunch?"

Kim smiles. "That sounds good."

"Lunch!" Teri exclaims, not having paid attention to a word of our serious little talk. Kim and I share grins over the girl's head, and walk back to the kitchen.


	10. Chapter 10

To kick off the lunch conversation, Kim talks about her work. She's a secretary in a publishing firm – not hard work for someone who used to be a systems analyst at CTU, but she seems to like it. I'm half tempted to ask her if they're hiring, but I don't really feel like pointing out that I'm still unemployed.

Little Teri makes a volcano out of her mushy beans. I smile to myself…I used to play with my food like that, when I was little. My mother would tell me that if I didn't eat my potato volcano, it'd explode lava all over the kitchen and make her very unhappy. And then of course I'd leave it on my plate longer, wanting to see if it would really happen. My dad…my dad had to tell me it wouldn't happen before I'd reluctantly scarf down the mashed potatoes.

"What's so funny?" Jack asks.

I look up and the two other adults in the room are staring at me. Whoops. Walked a little too long down memory lane, there. "Nothing, just remembering when I was her age," I say, nodding at Teri.

"Teri, don't play with your food," Kim says, automatically shifting gears from "daughter" to "mother." Teri pouts, and I almost feel sorry that I've inadvertently ratted her out.

"I seem to recall telling you the same thing many times," Jack says.

"Shush," Kim mutters pointedly.

Jack chuckles and I take a bite of the burrito to hide my smile.

"So, _Dad_," Kim says, "you have a birthday coming up next month."

Her comment, made to steer the conversation away from her own habits as a toddler, makes Jack groan. "Do I?" he says. "I hadn't noticed." Kim's right, I realize. June 18.

"Your birthday's next month?" Teri says to her grandpa.

"That's right," Jack says.

"How old are you gonna be?"

"How old do you think I am now?" he asks her.

She thinks about it for a moment, her tiny brow furrowing in the cutest way. "Forty-three and a half," she declares.

Jack laughs, the sound echoed by chuckles from Kim and I. "That's my girl," he says, patting her hair.

"Did I get it right?" the girl asks, excited.

"Not really, sweetheart, but you were close. I'm fifty-two."

"So what are we doing to celebrate your birthday, Jack?" I say.

"Nothing," he says, his tone serious. "I'm going to have a _quiet_ day."

I can fill in the giant blanks he left with that statement: A quiet day with no terrorists, no bombs, no targeted IRK presidents, no deadly viruses, no killers, kidnappers, or politically correct heads of CTU.

"That doesn't sound like fun," Teri says, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah, Dad, that doesn't sound like fun," Kim chimes in, smirking. She's loving this way too much.

"Kim, no funny business," Jack says, his eyebrows raised pointedly. His head swings to look at me. "Renee, I'm counting on you to be my defense against surprise parties."

"And I'm counting on you to help plan the surprise party," Kim says.

I'm glad that both father and daughter are grinning devilishly. Grinning devilishly I can deal with – it means that they don't really expect me to take their side, that they're just joking around. So I'm completely comfortable saying, "Sorry Kim, I'm with Jack on this one."

"Aw, rats!" Kim says. She looks at her daughter. "Teri, it looks like you and I are on our own. But they'll never see us coming!" She gives Teri a conspiring grin, and the girl giggles and gives a small cheer of agreement.

Jack turns his devilish grin on me, and I have to grin myself. He's so attractive when he's smiling or grinning, no matter what adjective you attach to it. It still amazes me, every time he smiles – that he still can smile. I remember him smiling only once on the day I met him – right after we found the last canister and stopped it from going off in the subway, with the help of Jibraan. It was simple in appearance, but conveyed a wealth of emotion – relief, victory, happiness…

I want to keep putting smiles on his face. Life is more beautiful, less painful, when you have a genuine reason to smile. He's my reason, still, despite anything and everything he's done to me. I want to be his reason, too.

* * *

Jack and I clean up the dishes and Kim takes Teri into the living room. When I'm done loading the last dish into the dishwasher, I turn and find Kim staring at the mantle in the living room, motionless. Jack and I exchange a look, and then walk over to join her.

"Kim?" Jack asks cautiously.

"Whose idea was this?" she asks.

I take a good look at the mantle. A few more pictures have found their way onto it in the last couple of days – a portrait of Kim and her family, and two pictures of little Teri. The framed one I saw back in Jack's old New York apartment is sitting right next to the framed picture of her grandmother, and I know it's the picture of elder Teri that has Kim shocked.

"Renee's," he says.

"Is that okay, Kim?" I ask. I have no idea why she'd object to a picture of her mother in our apartment, but her opinion honestly doesn't matter to me so much that I'd take it down. I'd take it down if it bothered Jack, but it doesn't.

"Okay?" she repeats. "It's the nicest thing I've never known any girlfriend of Dad's to do."

Jack's expression goes half a shade darker – it wouldn't be noticeable to a stranger, but I've gotten quite well at reading him. The only real past girlfriend of his that I know of is Audrey. What is Kim trying to say about her?

But the moment passes, and Jack's face smoothes into an unreadable expression. Just in time, too, as Kim turns and gives me a huge hug.

"Thank you," Kim whispers.

Behind me, Teri says, "What's happening, Grandpa?"

"Kim was looking at a picture of your Grandma, sweetie," Jack says.

"Amma?" Teri asks, confused.

Kim lets me go and picks up her daughter. "No, cutie, Amma is your daddy's mom," she says. She brings Teri up to the mantle. "This is my mom, your other Grandma."

Teri touches the glass of the frame with her little hand. "She's pretty," Kim says. "When will I meet her?"

I don't think I've ever felt sadder for that little girl. Except maybe when she was held hostage by Natalia Pavel and her bloodthirsty, lesbian sidekick.

"Sweetie, we talked about this," Kim says gently. "Grandma Bauer can't come because she's in Heaven, remember?"

"I remember," the girl says sadly.

I look over at Jack, who has a hint of a tear in the corner of his eye.

* * *

Kim and Teri left shortly thereafter, and I take Jack's hand in my own. "Are you okay?" I ask softly.

"Yeah," he says.

"Are you sure?"

He smiles at me, with a sad expression on his face. "I'm sure. I just… Remember a few days ago, when Kim and I went out for lunch together?"

"Yes."

"It was the anniversary…"

"I thought she died in March 2004," I say.

"She did. We…we married in May 1985."

"Oh…" This is where I say something like "I'm sorry," but that seems so trite…

"I'm sorry," he says, looking away before meeting my eyes again.

"Jack, you don't have to apologize," I say. "She was an important part of your life. I'd have a serious personality problem if it bothered me that you remembered her on your anniversary." It would take a real bitch to begrudge someone a meal in remembrance of their late spouse. I guess there are some women insecure enough to do it, but I'm not one of them.

Jack smiles with a "huff." "No, you wouldn't," he says. "You'd just be normal. As it is…" He pulls me closer, for a hug. "…you're kind of extraordinary."

I frown, even though the compliment makes my stomach flutter. "I don't say these things so you'll think I'm some sort of saint, Jack. I really do mean them."

"I know you don't, I know you're not, and I know you do." I can hear another "huff" of amusement, and I can just picture his smile.

"…Okay then." I hug him back.

* * *

I'm outside the apartment, leaning against the railing, overlooking the quad. As usual, my pack's in my pocket and a cigarette's in my mouth.

The door opens behind me, and Jack joins me, copying my position. I take the cigarette in my fingers and exhale. "Jack, you don't have to be here right now."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"I'm staying here. End of discussion," he says. His voice is light, nonchalant, but I can sense the underlying sincerity.

I remember when I said that to him. I meant it then. "Fine."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to hide from me when you smoke."

"Okay."

"Renee."

"I said okay, Jack. I understand."

"Okay," he says. He come closer, puts a hand at my nape, and brushes his lips against my temple. "Now, do you really want me to leave?"

Every ashamed aspect of me wants to be alone with this death stick, but every aspect of me that cares about him so deeply wants him to stay. I can't wait to get off cigarettes. I'm tired of being so split in my own mind all the time. "No," I finally say.

"I thought you were gonna quit those," a voice says from my left.

I look over, and Tania's standing a few feet away, wrinkling her nose. A basketball tucked under her arm, she looks between me, Jack, and the cigarette. "Hi, Tanni," I say.

"Well?" she says demandingly.

Jack steps back and starts toward her. "Hi, honey, what's your –" Before he can finish, she turns on her heel and takes off, disappearing beyond the corner. "Wait, I…" He looks back at me. "What did I say wrong?"

I flick away the ashes of my cigarette. "Could've been anything. I met her a couple of days ago, after you found out about…" I wave the cigarette as an explanation. "Her name's Tania. I think she was abused, but I don't know who by or when. I just saw the burn scars on her arm. It would explain why she doesn't seem to trust people."

"She trusted you enough to talk to you," he says. "That's something."

"I suppose."

"Maybe you should talk to her some more. Get to know her." He nods down at the mostly-empty quad, where she can now be seen bouncing the basketball. "She seems lonely."

Tania isn't lonely. She wants to be left alone. Except it's the kind of alone you start wanting long after you stop trusting everyone else. Her real loneliness is buried so deep behind those distrusting eyes that she can't feel it anymore.

I know this because I can see myself in her. In the year following my attempted suicide, Jack was the only person I truly trusted. Well...trust. I never stopped trusting him with my life…and I think I'm starting to trust him with my heart again. It's easier now that he knows I'm addicted to cigarettes.

"I have to stop smoking, Jack," I whisper, switching the topic.

He seems to take my change of topic in stride. "Okay. What do you want to do?"

"Go cold turkey."

* * *

Writer's Note: For the purposes of this story, I changed Jack's birthday. He's just a few months younger than the true timeline says he is. (In the series, he was born on February 18, 1966. I just changed the birth month.) We may see some angst ahead, or we may not. I don't know. How would I know? I dun' know nuttin'. x3 ;)


	11. Chapter 11

Writer's Note: Thanks to everyone that's reviewed so far! This story is far from perfect but I'm very happy to see that you enjoy it anyway. :3

* * *

I sit on the rail, my legs dangling against the posts that hold it up, dangling above the quad. It's my first evening of cold turkey. I'm not sitting so close to the edge because of suicidal thoughts – not by any means. I'm on the rail so close to the edge because it's symbolic of how my life teeters on the cusp of the edge. At any moment, I could strangle my sanity and fling it off the edge. At any moment, some cynical murderer could jump out and push me off to my death. But what are the odds of that?

And mostly, I'm sitting on the rail because sometimes it's just nice to let your legs dangle. They carry me all day, every day, without complaint – so don't they deserve to hang around and relax once in a while?

…What was that I said about my sanity?

"It worries me when you sit on the rail like that," Jack says from behind me. He must have just come out of the apartment. I wonder why I didn't hear the door open or close.

"I'm not going to jump, Jack."

"I know. But anything could happen." I know that he, too, is calculating how many mobsters, terrorists, and plain old murderers could want me dead.

But if a mobster, terrorist, or murderer wanted me dead, there are dozens of backdoor alleys and darkened corners in L.A., in which you can buy a gun under the table. A gun would be far more efficient than sneaking up to my back to shove me off the railing.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

Very annoyed and irritated, now that he's reminded me why I banished myself from human company for the next couple of hours. "Fine," I say.

"Please, come inside?"

"I said I'm not going to jump, Jack!" I snap. Really, this overprotective crap is going to drive me to smoke. And that's exactly what I'm trying to stop doing!

"Renee…"

"If I couldn't kill myself when you threw me out like yesterday's trash, I'm sure as hell not going to now!"

I don't turn around, but I know the exact second he starts walking away, very quietly. Now that he's interrupted me, I'm so attuned to his every move – his steps. The knob turning. The soft swing of the door opening into the apartment. The way he half-turns when he closes it behind himself. His footsteps, further into the apartment, until I can't hear him anymore.

As my addiction-induced anger fades, I realize that I did exactly what I was hoping to avoid by keeping myself away from him: I said something bitchy and hurtful. And to boot, I've revealed more about that night than I ever wanted to.

* * *

I let myself into the apartment, close the door behind me. Jack's not in the kitchen and he's not in the living room. I check the master bedroom, too. Nada. I find the second bedroom closed, though. I knock gently on the door. "Jack? Are you in there?"

"Yeah…"

"Can I come in?" No response. I lay my hand on the knob. "Jack?"

"Sure."

He's on the floor, next to the last remaining pile of boxes. His knees are bent, and he's crossed his arms over them. His head rests against the wall, eyes closed.

I go and kneel down beside him. "Jack, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"Yes, I do," I say. "I didn't…" What? I didn't mean it? Of course I meant it. I just hadn't meant to _say_ it. "I shouldn't have said that."

"That doesn't make it any less true, though, does it?" he asks, opening his eyes and targeting them on me.

Suddenly, my mouth seems too dry for this conversation. "I wish I could say it wasn't," I say.

"I just…I can't believe I made you want to kill yourself."

I reach over and turn his face to me, my hand on his upset, pale face. "Jack, I was in the heat of the moment. Of course I wished something so stupid. The only thing that matters is that everything that happened that night turned out okay."

"Yeah," he says disbelievingly. "My granddaughter has nightmares, you're healing from a gunshot wound, and you're addicted to smoking."

"Yes, I am addicted to smoking," I say. It's hard not to hate myself just a little every time I say those words, but I know I have to. No one ever recovers from an addiction unless they first and foremost know that they are, in fact, addicted. "That's the only reason I'm acting like such a bitch. And it's not your fault I'm addicted."

"It's not?" he says. "If I hadn't been so stupid, you wouldn't have been out there in the first place. I can't believe I was so stupid. I've never made such a blatant, stupid mistake."

My hand drops onto his crossed arms. "And if I hadn't left, I never would have been in a position to help little Teri," I say. I smile weakly. "That's more important than some stupid little wish in the heat of the moment."

Jack rubs his face with his hands, displacing my hand. "Is it even possible for you to forgive me?" he asks. "I know it's what I want, and I think it's what you want, too, but is it even possible?"

"Of course it's possible," I whisper. It has to be. Besides, I'm almost there. I can feel it. And although it's true that I don't blame him for my addiction, I feel that if I can just kill and bury it, I can get totally past all of this. "I just need time," I say. "Time…and help. Lots of help." I chuckle, hiccup, and cry at once for a split moment, before grabbing him, and holding on. His legs flatten, and his arms snake around me, pull me onto his lap.

Suddenly, every problem I've ever had seems to rise up and intensify. Vladimir. My argument with my last living relative. Vossler's baby. Wilson. Vladimir again. Stabbing Jack. Being thrown out. Anita giving me a cigarette. Anita fucking _hitting_ on me. Getting shot.

I don't cry. I don't sob. I don't have the tears left. But I shake, at first very slightly, and then with increasing ferocity. I shake from the pain, both physical and emotional. I shake from the fear. I shake from the loneliness I faced for over a year. I shake from the guilt. And I shake from the need.

Jack's hands, very soothingly and caringly, rub my back, as he holds me.

* * *

I wake to the two of us on the bed. At some point, he'd dragged us to the master bedroom. We were apparently too out of it to take off our clothes or to even get under the covers – and we completely skipped dinner. In our sleep, though, we clutched each other, out of such great need that I don't think either of us really rested.

Or maybe we were just that cold.

I smile to myself, as I stare at his sleeping face, so close to mine. Naaah…

He shifts, stretches within the confines of our embrace, and opens his eyes. "Hey," he murmurs sleepily. "What time is it?"

The clock sits on the nightstand on his other side. I look over his shoulder. It reads "6:02." I say, "Early."

"Mmm. Sleep, breakfast, or morning sex?" he asks.

I can't help chuckling. He's still out of it. And although _he's _still pretty out of it, I feel twice as energized as I usually do. "You're going back to sleep," I say, untangling myself. "I'm making coffee." Although, I think I'll make decaf.

""I am, am I?"

I drop a chaste kiss onto his lips. "Yes, you are."

"Hmm…" His voice is even more gravelly when he doesn't form actual words. It's cute. I go into the bathroom and take care of first-thing morning essentials – like peeing, brushing teeth and hair, washing face, those sorts of things.

I pad into the kitchen, and start fixing a pot of decaf. Of all the appliances he had shipped with the furniture, the coffee maker is my definite favorite. I leave it to start trickling water over the ground coffee, and wander to the window at the end of the hallway. I love this window, and that's also unusual, because I usually don't care about the place I'm living in. But this place, my home…it's great. Granted, it's not a three-story mansion, but I wouldn't know what to do with all that space, anyway.

It's not the space or the grandeur or the cost of a place…it's the people in it that make it home.

But this window is still really nice. It's circular, and overlooks the city. I feel like I'm watching everything from a bird's nest. The only view better is a bird's-eye view from a helicopter.

Jack comes out and wraps his arms around me from behind. "What'cha looking at?" he asks, nuzzling my neck.

"Nothing. Just…looking."

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"You just had your first full smoke-free day. Tell me that doesn't make you feel good."

In truth, I could really use a cig. But pride is rising up inside of me, threatening to match that addiction and then surpass it…with time. I smile. "I can't."

* * *

Writer's Note: Just a quick note to say that there won't be an update tomorrow for sure - it's Father's Day. :) Got to spend the day reminding the old man how much we care about him, so we can spend the next 364 days driving him insane. XD (I jest. Mostly.)


	12. Chapter 12

Writer's Note: Thank you for all your reviews. :) I'm sorry that I'm not responding to each individual one, but as you can see by the number of reviews this story has gotten so far, that would be a lengthy task! (I can't see myself giving a generic thank-you response. Individual responses have to be personal or I just give a public thank-you on the chapters themselves. I can't just sign my name on a birthday card, either, something my brother does that drives me crazy. xD I guess we know which one of us is wordier, eh?)

* * *

After I have a cup of morning decaf with Jack, I hop in the shower. The hot water does me good – I feel clearer and warmer and fresher. It doesn't hurt that I haven't used any of my own bath supplies for about a week; I've been using Jack's. Between the body wash, shampoo, and mint toothpaste (I use a bland brand, as I've never been terribly fond of mint) I smell and taste like him, and I know it drives him crazy. Maybe that's why I do it.

I kept the bandage on when I undressed, and it's soaked through by now. The water stings but it's not too bad. It's not like I have the showerhead on full throttle directly onto exposed skin. The minor pain I feel doesn't bother me.

There was a time when I loved it. Then, the pain was a fierce reminder that I _could_ feel. And I needed reminding.

* * *

Stepping out of the shower, I go into the main bathroom. The mirrors aren't fogged because the toilet and shower are in a tidy little room just to the left. The tub's to the right, and in the main bathroom are the sinks and wall-sized mirrors. I use those mirrors to watch myself as I peel back the soaked bandage.

A raw, puckered hole stares back at me. It's got this slick, red covering – the blood clot, wet from the shower – and it looks smaller than it did before. But then, it's been a little over two weeks, so I suppose it's moving right along. Part of me can't help but wish it'd move along faster, but I guess there's no rushing nature, except in childbirth and death.

I take my antibiotics first, then grab the ointment. I squeeze half a fingernail's length onto my index finger, and rub it in slow circles around the wound, starting at the irritated but healthy skin surrounding the wound, then moving to the raw edge, and then slowly, with a wince, smooth it into the center. With that done, I grab a fresh pack of gauze, open it, and start taping it over the wound.

There. I look at myself in the mirror. Except for the area surrounding my wound, I'm still wet. My hair's dripping water steadily on the floor behind me. My towel's wrapped around my waist instead of around my breasts, because I couldn't get to the bandage with it covering me modestly.

Jack appears in the mirror, standing in the doorway. He walks over and his fingers brush over the edge of the towel, just below my navel. "You look good," he says, kissing up my neck.

"Jack, I'm still soaked."

"You still look good."

Smirking, I swat away his hands as they start to wander. "Not now," I say, only partly bemused. He means well, but I can't do just-out-of-the-shower sex yet. I can do shower sex, I can do before-shower sex, and I can do sex after I've dried and dressed, but I can't do just-out-of-the-shower sex. The memory of Vladimir is still too strong, and I want to head off the feeling it brings.

Because this morning is just too good to soil. It is my first morning after a smoke-free day, after all – at least, this time around.

Jack nods and kisses my cheek. "I'll see you outside, then." And with that, he turns and walks out the door, shutting it behind him quietly. I watch this through the mirror. It doesn't stun me or surprise me that he respected my request, but it does make me feel grateful to have him. I always knew that he's a thousand times the man Vladimir was, but…it's nice to see it. Experience it. _Know_ it, know it.

I smile, and undo the towel to dry myself.

* * *

I go out into the main rooms, still rubbing my hair with the towel. Jack's kneeled in front of the T.V. and various electronic accessories, dozens of wires strewn around him. He looks up with a wry smile on his face. "I can program computers, radios, comm. units, and every gun and rifle known to CTU, but I still have issues setting up the T.V.," he says. "Go figure."

"Heh. Here, let me help." I hang the towel on the back of a kitchen chair and go over to him, kneel down beside him. He surrenders his wires and I start sorting through everything. He leans back on his hands and sighs. "What?" I ask.

"Is there anything you can't do?"

Smirking, I say, "I would've asked you the same thing, before I learned about your T.V. handicap."

"I don't have a _T.V. handicap_ – just a T.V. difficulty."

"Sure." I start snapping cables into their respected boxes, and sit up on my knees to snake a couple to the back of the T.V. "That's why your T.V. is a 2011 model, and your cable box and DVD player are at least ten years old." I shake the Blu Ray player in my hand as evidence.

"What do I want with the fancy 'high tech' equipment? I hardly ever use the T.V. I have anyway," he says. "And I swear, I've compared high def to regular T.V. – and there i_s no difference._"

I chuckle, organizing the electronics on the T.V. stand. "Well, Janice'd tell you that on the microscopic level, there's a huge difference that completely revolutionizes the 'T.V. experience' but between you and me…?" I shake my head. "…It's not revolutionized enough for the naked eye."

"Thank you."

I shrug. "Well, it's true."

"No, thank you – how did you sort all that out so quickly?" He stares at his T.V. center, everything organized and in its place. "I swear, half those cables looked exactly alike."

I look back at what he's staring so intently at. "It's easy if you know what to look for," I say. "My grandfather owned an electronics shop. My dad never went into the business like he wanted, but he picked up the skill." I swallow. I'd set up the T.V. on autopilot – I hadn't prepared for the flood of nostalgia that's coming. "One of my earliest memories was of him programming the T.V. set Grandpa gave us one Christmas…"

"Yeah?" Jack says. He must be one to sympathize with that, not going into the business your father wants you to. I'm not sure what he did with his father's company after he died, and after Graem died, but I'm sure he's not involved in it. He never wanted to be involved in it, from what I've heard. That's why he joined the military, and then the police and eventually CTU.

"Yeah." He waits patiently, and so I sigh. "He joined the FBI after college. Special Agent Henry Walker. God, I used to love playing with his badge." Jack chuckles with me for a moment, but my amusement doesn't last long. My smile fades, my heart shudders in my breast. "It wasn't until I was older that I realized that it wasn't a toy."

Jack's hand covers mine, and I look up into his blue eyes as he smiles at me tenderly. "Is that why you joined the FBI?" he asks, rubbing the palm of my hand with his thumb.

"Yeah. He died when I was twelve. My mom survived him, but she didn't really seem like she was living, you know? It was like she died with him in spirit." Jack nods. Before I know it, I'm spilling out everything. "For the next thirteen years, she never laughed or sang, or any of the things she used to love doing. She had a part-time job, and we had my dad's pension, so there was always food on the table, but…the house seemed so empty." I laugh, but it's hollow. I look down at our interfolded hands. "Most days, I would come home from school, and she'd be lying back on their bed, just staring at the ceiling.

"The doctors, they thought they could help her, but all they did was eat up money we couldn't spare, so she stopped seeing them. They thought she had some form of depression – or multiple forms, I never really understood what – but what I think is… What I think is that she just didn't want to live without him."

"My mom died when I was around five," Jack says. "I don't remember much of her, but Graem did."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Jack says. "At least I didn't have to watch her suffer like you had to watch yours…"

I'm quiet for a moment, and then I say, "I think…there was one day, one day where she seemed like she was herself again. It was the day of my graduation – not from high school or university, but from the FBI training academy. When we were dismissed from the ceremony, I turned to the stands, and she was in the very first row, beaming at me like…" I huff. "Like I'd done some goddamn heroic deed or something. But…" I have to smile. "It was so nice to see her finally happy about something."

"That's good. What happened then?"

"…She died." I look up at him, trying to hold the tears back. "The coroners said it was the strangest thing they'd ever seen. There was no physical sign for cause of death. No sign of malicious intent, no sign of suicide, nothing. It was like something straight out of Harry Potter." I shrug, my smile wobbling. "I think she was just holding on long enough to see me join the FBI."

Jack scoots closer, and puts an arm around my shoulder, and then, as if deciding that that wasn't good enough, he turned and pulled me into a full hug.

I blink back a few tears. For once, I'm not sobbing or shaking in his arms. These memories are hard, but not that hard – it's as much a fact of life as the sky being blue and snow being white. I don't really _need_ to sob or shake about them. But it feels nice that he's holding me, if for no other reason that hugs from Jack are great anyway. So I return the hug, bending my head down to kiss his shoulder.

* * *

Kim called a few minutes later, inviting me to have lunch with her on her break. "_Just you_," she'd said.

I'd looked at Jack after ending the call, asking, "Should I be worried that I just agreed to a 'girl's lunch out' with your daughter?"

He laughed, and wouldn't elaborate.

So here I am, at a small Italian place. It's not fancy, just kind of homey, and Kim waves me over from a small, two-person booth. I wind through the tables and waiters to get to her, and take a seat across from her.

"Hey," she says, putting down her menu. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem," I say. "Thanks for inviting me."

"The spaghetti is really good here. They put some sort of spice in the sauce, I think…"

"I'll keep that in mind. How's Teri? Is she still having nightmares?" I ask, remembering the self-hatred Jack spoke with yesterday evening when he said, "...my granddaughter's having nightmares…"

Kim's fingers twiddle over the laminated menu. "It's getting a little better. She only woke up once last night, and not at all the night before. It's…it's hard hearing my little girl cry for help," she says. When I look more closely, I can see the disguised circles under her eyes, and the tiredness in her eyes themselves. I think she's still blaming herself, for giving them her own address instead of the hotel, but really, she had no reason to think we were there. And then the kidnappers decided to take Teri instead of me, against Natalia's orders. And Anita was spared their fate because either Natalia was still in the closet, or because she wasn't really present during the kidnapping like she claimed – but who really expects the bad guys to be truthful, anyway?

"Sometimes it's for me, and that's what really breaks my heart," Kim says, "but sometimes it's for her daddy, or her grandpa, or you."

"Me?" I say, surprised. The girl's seen me, what, three, maybe four times?

"Yes, you," Kim says with a laugh. She doesn't continue, but she doesn't need to. I can practically hear her say, "You did save her, you know." Instead, she says, "She wants to visit you and Dad again."

"She's always welcome," I say.

Kim opens her mouth to reply, but the waiter interrupts us. We give him our orders, both for the drinks and the meals. I didn't really have time to look at the menu, but I'm hungry and Kim's suggestion sounds good.

We talk some more, and I discover that Kim's taken a few days off work. She had some vacation time built up and the company had a "use it or lose it" policy. I feel honored that she'd want to spend some of her vacation with me.

But one question suddenly slips off my tongue: "Kim, when you visited the apartment, Jack stiffened when you said that the picture was the nicest thing that any of your dad's girlfriends had ever done. It was just for a moment, but…what was that about?" I go a bit pink, realizing that I've just pried, when she'd promised me that she wouldn't pry into our troubles.

She looks down at her plate, and then back into my eyes. "Dad's girlfriends…they've always felt threatened by Mom. Except for maybe Kate Warner, but Dad didn't really love her. He liked her, but nothing more. And then, Audrey…" Kim sighs. "Audrey was a nice woman, really. I couldn't find a single fault with her, except that she didn't like my mother mentioned. I don't think she meant to, but she basically gave Dad an underhand ultimatum: Her, or Mom. And Mom, she's dead. And I…" She huffs. "I don't want to speak too ill of her, considering what she went through in attempt to get my Dad back from China, but I didn't appreciate that at all." Smiling, she says, "Dad was happy with her, but I always wondered how long that would last. How long he could live behind a desk and shuffle files and babysit senators on their little trips around the country, and live with a woman that had no idea, no real clue what he went through at CTU. That's what caused problems between him and Mom, the nature of his job. Maybe it makes me a horrible person, but I wondered how long he could keep it up the second time around."

"It doesn't make you a horrible person," I say, "just a daughter that cares about her dad. That's different."

"Hmm. Well, what I mean is, it didn't surprise me when he left Audrey behind when he left the country. She never would have survived his lifestyle, even in the right state of mind. Once I stopped being a bitter bitch, I tried to find him. South America, India, Africa…he was always gone before I could find him. Between wanting to find him so I could throw my arms around him and never let go, and wanting to find him so I could strangle him for being so damned evasive, I was hoping he'd find someone to be with. Someone not like Mom or Audrey. God knows I love my Mom, and I know he loved them both, but he needs someone who knows his job, who can stand with him. Watching Dad is how I learned that love isn't enough – you need the strength to hold each other up, too."

She doesn't really need to continue now, either, because I already understand where she's going with this, but she does. She says, "That's why I was so glad when he said you were coming with him to L.A. He told me about you, after the treatment. He wouldn't talk to me about the places he'd been in the years following his release from China, but he talked to me, in-depth, about the day of the Senate hearings." My ears start to burn to make up for not sensing that I was the subject of conversation during the fact. "When he told me how you helped him even after he was forced to shoot you and bury you alive, I tried to find you, but you…" Kim laughs. "…You proved to be every bit as evasive as he was."

"I'm sorry," I say through a chuckle. Kim just couldn't get a break, could she? "If it helps, I wasn't in any condition to have visitors."

"What?" she says, features sharpening with alarm.

I bite my lip, and hold out one of my arms, turning it over to expose my suicide attempt. "I had a bad time of it," I say.

Kim's jaw drops, and she brushes the scars with shaky fingers. "Is this why you ignored Dad when he tried to get in touch?" she breathes.

She probably really resented me for that at the time, but she sure doesn't now. "Yeah," I say. "I'm sorry about that. I was so happy that you'd gone through with the treatment, though."

"I started to doubt my decision when I had to watch him suffer through recovery," she says in a confessional tone. "So many times it looked like he wouldn't make it, and I wished I'd just let him die in peace, instead of in pain and humiliation."

Since her hand's still over my wrist, I slide my arm back and take that hand in mine. "Believe me, any chance is better than taking no chance at all," I say, and it's my turn to share a story. "Let me tell you something. When Jack was first told about the treatment, the doctor also mentioned you in the same breath, and he refused without skipping a beat. And when I told him I'd brought you in, he was furious, but I didn't care. I would have given anything to have your opportunity, your choice. My dad died at the end of a kidnapper's gun. All the reports said he died in seconds. He never had a chance. And, realistically, I was twelve, so I wouldn't have been able to help him even if I was magically there, but I wanted to."

"That's why you joined the FBI," she says. Now both of the Bauers know my reasons for becoming an agent.

"Yes," I say. "And that's why I told you to come to the FBI that day. I knew that you needed to have the choice, Jack be damned."

She snickers into her free hand. "I guess he's never going to get his way while we're around."

"Not at all," I agree, and we laugh.

Lunch is great. We talk some more, about Jack, about little Teri, about a lot of things. But when lunch is over, I beg off the shopping she invites me to participate in. Kim takes it in good humor, claiming that she'll turn me on to shopping yet. As we wave goodbye, I climb into the taxi, thinking: not a chance.

* * *

Writer's Note: For dates and times, it's important to remember that Day 8 is set in 2018. My months are a little off canon, but it's the same year. :) Sorry, no Tania in this chapter - maybe next chapter? Who knows?


	13. Chapter 13

Writer's Note: Thank you for all your honest and encouraging reviews! :)

* * *

I pay the cab driver and step out onto the sidewalk in front of the apartment complex. Brushing through the passersby, I go through the lobby, nodding to the attendant before exiting into the quad. It's sunny and warm, and kids are playing games in the small corner devoted to a basketball court. Some are shooting hoops, some are jumping rope, some are drawing on the blacktop with chalk. I notice one little girl sitting in the corner, moving a basketball around with her toe. Tania.

I remember what Jack said about her, about her being lonely, as well as my own impressions of her. He had a good idea about getting to know her, even if it was for the wrong reason. But approaching her when there's a lot of kids around could be the wrong move. I remember enough about elementary school days to know that befriending an adult, the type of person that made rules and made you eat your vegetables and reported bad behavior to other parents, was a strict taboo.

I shake my head and start climbing the stairs when I hear a ruckus behind me. In that same corner, I see two older boys picking on Tania, holding her basketball out of reach. Immediately my temper spikes, and it's more than just the cold turkey pissing me off this time. I start to go back down the steps when I stop, thinking about my reasons for not approaching her right now to begin with. But not wanting to ruin a kid's social life is a pretty dumb reason not to stop a bullying. I look around, seeing no other parents. Geez, doesn't this complex have someone watching the quad? Don't they know the number of kidnappers that could get in here without breaking a sweat, despite the security guard in the lobby?

One of the boys pushes Tania down, and my mind's made. Since I'm the only adult outside, I walk briskly down the steps and cross the quad to the basketball court. The kids don't seem impressed by my avenging angel entrance, but I don't really care.

"It's ours now, Freckle Face!"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Freckle Face? Are the bullies these days that unoriginal? I remember being called Freckle Face, not that I really cared. I liked my freckles.

The same boy bounces the ball too high for her to catch it, and I reach over his head and catch it before he can. The boy whirls around, shocked. He looks a lot older than Tania, but I'm still a lot older than _him_ - and taller, among other things.

"Hey, that's ours!" the other boy protests.

I roll the ball in my hands. "Is that why it says 'Tania Reed' in large, bold letters?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"_Tommy! James!_" a hoarse voice practically screeches from the second-floor apartment above the basketball court. "If you're harassing the Reed girl again I'm gonna whoop you!" The woman slams the window shut, only to yank it open again. "And come up for dinner!"

I glance down at my watch. Dinner at three fifty? But before I could even question the boys, they're hightailing it up to that apartment. Well. My little scolding mission was kind of a bust, not that I have any authority to scold them. Except maybe Good Samaritan authority, but what kid actually listens to the neighbors, anyway? Feeling kind of stupid, I hand the ball back to Tania, who stares at me. Her eyes aren't shimmering with gratitude or any of that cliché crap, but neither is she looking at me with quite the usual level of distrust.

"Why'd you do that?" she says finally.

I shrug. "No one else was going to."

"They're only going to be worse now that you've stepped in."

"I figured." Before I really know what I'm saying, I tell her, "I can show you how to defend yourself so you can feel prepared the next time they get pushy."

Tania blinks. "Really?" Then her expression gets that suspicious glare again. "What do you know about self defense?"

What do I know about self defense? The question would seem ridiculous if she knew who I am. "I was an FBI agent for seventeen years, Tanni. Believe me, I know how to deal with bullies." Really big bullies armed with bombs and AK-47s.

"Okay, when?" she says, her voice an octave lower.

I'm a little stunned that she actually agreed. "Ahm…how about tomorrow after school?" School still gets out at three, I think…

"I'll be here ," she says, and then she runs off in the direction of the swimming pool. I watch her go, still stunned. Is this going to be a habit of hers, always running away from me? As I head up to the apartment, I make a silent promise to myself that someday, she'll stop doing that.

* * *

"How was lunch?" Jack asks.

"It was good," I say. "We got to talking and time slipped away from us."

"Whatever you talked about, it must have been fascinating. You guys were out for three hours," he says.

"We talked mostly about you," I say. "You are what we have most in common."

Jack's lips turn up in a smile, and he stands from the kitchen table and kisses my brow. "Uh-huh," he says. "And how're you feeling?"

He could be talking about my wound, he could be talking about my addiction. It's not quite time for my evening smoke, so I only feel a little antsy. "Fine," I say.

"Really. 'Fine?'"

"Well, as good as I can expect to feel," I say.

He inhales deeply, smelling my hair. "Mmm. You've been using my shampoo again."

"And your body wash."

"Hmm. God. You're just…intoxicating. But I think you should go lie down until dinner."

"Jack, I'm fine," I say with a laugh.

"Mmm-hmm. Well, at least take some Advil before the pain starts up, okay?"

"Okay," I agree. I pull away and head down the hall to the bedroom.

"What would you like for dinner?" he calls.

"I don't know. Whatever you want to do is fine!" I say. I pop an Advil in my mouth and lean over the sink, sipping a few mouthfuls from the running faucet.

Suddenly, his arms are wrapping around me. "So, that'll be one Renee Walker to go?"

I laugh – _not_ giggle, although some might call my more feminine laugh that – "Jack!"

He turns my head to face him by guiding my chin with his fingers, and kisses me deeply.

* * *

Both of us were in the mood for actual sustenance, though, so a couple of hours later, Jack scooped some homemade stew into two bowls, and put one down at his placemat, and one at mine. "It's an old family recipe," he says. "My grandmother made it for us all the time. She was around a lot, after our mother died."

"Yeah? And she passed on the Bauer stew secret to you?" I say, smiling.

He grins back. "Yep. Dig in."

My mouth closes over a spoonful, and it's incredible. Carrots, potatoes, beef, all swirling in a liquid that's spiced with something tangy. I didn't even know Jack _has_ a spice rack. "Wow, this is great," I say.

"I thought you'd like it," he says. "I prepared it this afternoon, figuring that if you didn't want it tonight, we could try it within the next couple of days."

"You know, out of all the things your file said, it never once mentioned that you're a great cook. There's a crime," I say.

He chuckles. "Sure."

"And Kim mentioned a lot of things during lunch, but she didn't mention this stew," I say.

Suddenly, Jack stills. "So you really did talk about me. What kind of things did you discuss?"

His tone makes me hesitate. I lower my spoon, glad that he'd spoken before I put food in my mouth, because I'd surely have choked on it. "Uh… Well, I asked her why you looked upset when she mentioned past girlfriends, when she was over for lunch last," I say.

Jack frowns. "And you didn't think that might be private?"

"I'm sorry, Jack," I say, feeling stunned. He's never really kept anything from me, and I was privy to his entire file – including classified parts. I guess I got spoiled into thinking I could know whatever I wanted. "You just looked so unhappy that moment. I wanted to know why."

"You couldn't just ask me, instead of going to my daughter about it?" he asks. He drops his spoon and stands up. "What the hell would she know about any of it, anyway?" He picks up the partially-eaten bowl of soup and takes it to the counter.

I stand and follow him. "You would be surprised." He stops, looking at me from the corner of his eye before he continues cleaning out the bowl, dumping his delicious family-recipe stew being down the sink. "Daughters see a lot that parents don't think they see. And being _your_ daughter, Kim is especially perceptive."

"Does that mean that my relationship history is a free-for-all?" he says. "Tell me, if you had asked me first, and I said no, would you have still asked Kim?"

"What?" The hell…? Am I on trial for something that didn't happen, now? "No, Jack…"

He stares at me for a good moment, then says, "I need some air." He leaves the kitchen, grabs his keys off the counter, and heads for the door.

"Jack, wait!" You can't get fresh air in Los Angeles. You breathe fumes and smoke and exhaust.

"I'll be back," he says shortly, gruffly.

"Jack, we should talk about –"

But he closes the door behind himself, so quietly that I can't even hear the click of the latch over the chaos in my brain.

Great. What the hell have I done now?

* * *

It's nine o'clock. He's been gone for three hours. I rub my face and sink even lower into the couch. If I had realized I was being too nosy, would I have stopped short of asking Kim my question? Would I have asked Jack instead?

And if he had refused to answer, _would_ I have gone to Kim anyway? I know what I want the answer to be – "no" – but, honestly…I don't know. I sigh and look over at the mantle, which is still bare save for the few pictures it contains.

Worst of all, I may have just caused a rift between Jack and his daughter. Christ, I'm doing everything I worried about doing when I first got here, and I've been in L.A. nearly a month. I would ask what's wrong with me, but I think everyone and their mother knows the answer to that question.

I get up and wander back into the kitchen. Nine-o-three. I sigh. I don't know where Jack went or when he'll be back. It's dark out, and I haven't got a snowball's chance in finding him. So I have to wait for him to return to plead my sorry case, and there's nothing to do while I wait. Oh, I'm sure there's plenty – there's a T.V. and books, a newspaper, more boxes that could use unpacking…but I can't focus on anything other than Jack long enough to read a chapter, and everything that Jack brought from New York seems especially taboo. The table, the bed, they seem to be staring at me, as if accusing me of being the fuck-up I am.

But the couch, which I had a hand in picking out, seems to be beckoning to me, so I wander back across the apartment and sit back down.

God, I am crazy. I'm imagining furniture with humanistic qualities. What next? Is the couch going to pat itself, saying, "Sit down here, dearie, we'll figure it out. Now tell Mr. Couch all your worries,"?

This is the kind of crap that makes me want to smoke.

I look back at the kitchen. One of the drawers is half-hidden from view by the counter, but I know that in the back of the third one down is my half-smoked pack of cigarettes. They're calling to me, so shamelessly…

No. "No, Walker," I mutter. "You are not going to smoke. You are going to sit here and wait until Jack comes in. You are not going to go outside to smoke. You are going to wait right here for Jack."

God, I hope Jack hurries. I don't care if he yells or screams or hollers at me, so long as he's here. I don't know how long I can convince myself not to smoke before I give in.

* * *

I can't stand it anymore. I get off the couch and storm back into the kitchen, ripping open the drawer. A foot away, the clock on the microwave says, "11:09." But instead of my pack, I see a long slip of paper, the kind you write shopping lists on, which reads: "Renee, Don't feel bad about giving in. You're one of the strongest women I know. You'll beat this. I love you, Jack."

His simple note makes me tear at the corner of my eyes. I bang my fist on the tiled counter, my motions one-part anger, and one-part self-loathing. I don't know what he did with my cigarettes, but I guess I deserve it. I'm not sure I deserve this loving note, though. I smooth out the wrinkles I accidentally caused, and put it back in the drawer and close it quietly with a shaky hand.

It's late, and Jack still hasn't come back.

What if he never comes back? What if he's decided that I'm not worth it, and went to stay at Kim's house, and is busy changing his cell phone number so I can't call him, hoping I don't remember Kim's address or phone number?

Stop, I tell myself. Jack said he would come back. He's a man of his word.

Except he didn't give me his word that he'd be home.

"Naugh." I need to stop this. I head into the bedroom. The bed still feels forbidden to me, so I grab a sweater and go back out to the living room. I lay down on the couch and cover myself with it.

I doubt sleep will come to me, and I'd rather stay awake for Jack anyway, but resting for a while will be better than being worried and pissed off and wanting a smoke. Besides, I do have my first defense lesson with Tania tomorrow... I close my eyes against the nightmare this great day turned out to be, but as I predicted, I don't sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Only the kitchen light is on. The hallway morphs into a dark corner, and shadows are cast over the living room. I lay here, rotating between cursing myself, blaming myself, wondering what the hell I was thinking, mentally raving at Jack for overreacting, and then wondering, worried, where he is.

Feeling restless, I get up and move around. So much has changed in the last couple of weeks. I remember how we were right off the bat – nothing but heat, passion and tenderness, maybe a bit of shyness. I've only ever experienced that kind of whirlwind once – during those first few weeks.

It occurs to me that the only time Jack's said "I love you," since the kidnapping was on that slip of paper in the kitchen drawer.

I push the sweater off and get up. I walk to the kitchen, feeling like I'm dragging with the world – or, at the very least, a moon – on my shoulders, and open the drawer. The shopping list with the sweet note didn't magically disappear. It's still there.

I take it, rereading the words. Memorizing the shape, the tilt, the curve of his letters. And I fold it in two and slip it into my back pocket.

* * *

At twelve thirteen I hear the knob turn. I stand up, and Jack walks in. His expression, his body posture, hell, even the atmosphere around him was stony. He meets my eyes briefly, then looks straight ahead as he heads toward the hall.

"Jack?" I say, hugging myself. Questions rise up to the forefront of my mind, but I have trouble speaking them: Where have you been? What were you doing for six hours? But despite his mood, he looks to be in one piece, and he's at least mostly sober. If he was in a bar, he didn't drink much – unless Jack Bauer is just that good at holding his liquor, which, I suppose is a possibility.

Jack doesn't respond. He just disappears into the darkened hallway. I hold my breath, listening intently. After a moment, I hear the strain of bedsprings, and I know he's at least trying to get some sleep. Maybe I should try to do the same. My dad always claimed, though, that the key to maintaining a healthy relationship was to never go to bed angry, to talk it out.

Talking's not going to happen tonight, though.

I stand awkwardly between the couch and the hallway. I want to join him. There's nothing I want more than to curl up in the same bed as Jack, even if all I get is his back to my face. But I'm not sure he'd appreciate that. He obviously wants some space.

So I turn off the kitchen lights and lie back down on the couch, pulling the sweater over me again. One bitter thought comes to mind before I can ward it off: I never shut him out when he pissed me off or hurt me. Granted, I walked out when he found out about my smoking, but when I came back (radically sooner than he did) I was ready to talk.

I close my eyes. These thoughts are not going to help. They're only going to make me feel self-righteous and pissed off, and coupled with the want for a smoke, they'll never let me get any sleep.

Besides, I remind myself, I did screw up. I'm good at that. But the morning will look better, and we'll talk then.

…I hate clichés.

* * *

I'm up before Jack is. I got around four or five hours of restless sleep, waking up in hourly intervals. I didn't have nightmares, but… I pour coffee into two mugs. No nightmares doesn't necessarily mean peaceful sleep. I kept wanting a cigarette, but I didn't want to embarrass myself by scouring the apartment for Jack's hiding spot, if he kept them at all.

"Morning…" Jack mumbles as he joins me in the kitchen.

Oh, he's speaking to me again? I raise an eyebrow and pass him a mug. He frowns at it, his crow's feet more pronounced. Is he trying to remember what coffee _is_ or is he trying to decide if it's poisoned or not? "Coffee," I say.

Exhaustion does not blend well with the "I just did something I wasn't supposed to do" look. "What did I do to deserve this?" he asks, gesturing with the mug before taking a sip.

"You don't deserve it, and you don't _not_ deserve it, either. I poured it for you because you need it." I look down at the coffee steaming in my own mug. "Look, Jack… I've screwed up so many times in the last month that it's hard to count. I started smoking, I kept secrets, I got too nosy… But I care about you. I care about you more than I ever expected to care about anyone." I hesitate, looking into his eyes, trying to gage his feelings, his mood… "How much trouble am I in?" I finish, giving a half-laugh laced with worry.

Jack takes another drink from his mug and says, "How much trouble am _I_ in?" The question seems rhetorical, so I don't respond. He puts his mug down on the counter and steps closer. "My turn. I don't share things well. You knew a lot about me already, but I haven't told you much of anything else. And things about…about Teri, about Audrey…those are hardest to think about."

"I don't understand…" I say. "I put that picture of Teri up, and that made you happy. Or at least I thought it did." Or was he lying to me to protect my feelings?

He nods at the mantle across the room. "That picture reminds me of happy times. But I don't like thinking about the troubles we had, or the troubles Audrey and I had." His expression darkens, turns even more sour for a moment. "Finding out that you knew something about them…I just didn't like it. Don't like it."

"I'm sorry," I say.

He looks back at me, his expression softening. "I know," he says. "And I shouldn't have left like that. I should have talked to you, like this, then. I'm sorry for that."

"Don't be sorry for leaving," I say. "I did, too. Remember when you found out about the cigarettes?" That was probably just as much of an overreaction as Jack's. But then I start to feel a little angry. "What you should feel sorry for is staying out for_ six hours_. Do you have any idea how worried I was? Worried that you wouldn't come back, worried that you wouldn't forgive me, worried that something had happened to you?"

"Hey," he says gently. "There was never any possibility that I wouldn't come back. And considering some of the mistakes I've made, I'd be an ass not to forgive you. As for the other…" He half-shrugs. "I'm a grown man, Renee. I can take care of myself."

"Jack, you may be invincible, but you're not immortal, damn it."

He cracks a grin for a moment, then makes his expression neutral. "I know. I'm sorry I worried you."

"Where were you?"

"I went to a bar downtown. It's a forty minute walk both ways. I had a couple of beers, sat at the counter until the bartender kicked me out at closing, and then came home."

Why didn't he just take a cab? I think I'm going to give up trying to understand the strange ways of men. "Well, I'm glad you got back okay," I say.

He shakes his head. "I just can't believe I wasted four and a half hours of my life in there. At least I made a good call on not getting drunk. If I had, you might be bailing me out of jail." When I stare at him, not laughing, he explains, "A couple of drunks started a bar fight. It got pretty rough. The bartender called the cops."

"What were they fighting over?"

"Everything and anything, it seemed – and none of it worth getting drunk over," he says. "That was about an hour before closing, and that's when I started considering coming home with my tail between my legs." He huffs a small laugh.

"You didn't seem too regretful when you walked in the door," I say. "Not that I really expected you to."

"I had a forty-five minute walk to get pissed off again. By the time I got back, I was a tired old grouch. I figured my best shot at not making anything worse was by keeping my mouth shut." He brushes my shoulder and hesitantly leans in to kiss my temple. "I'm sorry I'm such an idiot."

"I'm sorry I caused you to be such an idiot." I uncross my arms and cover his hand with one of my own. "I promise that if I have any more nosy questions, I'll either ask you or keep them to myself."

"I…" He pauses. "I can't promise I won't overreact again, but I promise I'll try."

"That's all we can do," I say.

* * *

Around two thirty, I change into a pair of light sweats and a tee shirt. I tie my sneakers and plop myself down to stretch. I would be remiss to not prepare my body fully, though I doubt I'll be doing much today. As I go through the list of things I should teach Tania, I remind myself that this is a girl, not a woman. I can't treat a nine or ten year old the same way I'd treat a six foot man.

When my leg muscles feel good and loose, I set to work on my arms. As I grasp my right arm with my left and pull it across my body, I wince. I'm going to need to be very careful. The chest muscles right below my shoulder are still fragile and mending. And the last thing I want to do is reopen the wound. Dr. Shaw would have a field day if I went in bleeding, instead of nicely on the mend. She's one of those doctors that truly cares about every person she sees, instead of seeing them as a walking checkbook.

"What'cha up to?" Jack asks from the doorway.

"I'm getting ready to meet Tania."

"Yeah?" he says, leaning against the frame.

"Yeah. Some kids were bullying her yesterday, so I'm going to show her some simple self-defense techniques."

"Do you really think that's wise?"

"Don't worry," I say, smiling. "I'll make sure she knows that she's only supposed to fight back as much as it takes to be left alone – and that verbal teasing doesn't count as a reason to fight."

"I'm not worried about that," he says. "I know you'll be a good teacher." My cheeks tint a pinkish color – I can feel it. "I'm worried about your wound."

"I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me, either."

Jack walks over and kneels beside me. "_Please_ take care of yourself," he says. "I know I'm not good at communication, especially when I'm pissed off, but I'm not pissed off now and I really need you to know how much I care about you."

I lean over and brush my lips against his. "I know," I say. "But this is something I need to do." But for my sake, or for Tania's?

"Okay."

* * *

Just as she said she would be, Tania is by the basketball court at three o'clock. I walk up to her and try a friendly smile. Her lips turn up in half a bored smile…not very enthusiastic, but she's trying. "Are you ready?" I say.

She tosses her backpack outside the lines of the basketball court, where it thumps loudly. Geez, how much work are they giving kids these days, for the backpacks to sound that heavy? "I guess," she says.

"Okay, then what you need to do first is stretch out. Arm muscles, leg muscles, back, everything. Have you ever played a sport or anything?"

"No. I don't like sports. Well, except maybe basketball, but I've never played on a team."

"Okay," I repeat. I'm feeling stupid already. No wonder I didn't go into teaching. I quickly explain and show her some stretches to cover most of everything. "We're not going too deeply into stretches today because we're not going to do anything heavy," I say. "Today's just going to be an introductory lesson, all right?"

"Yeah," she says. Then she frowns. "So, what kind of fighting are we doing?"

I smile. "I know karate, Judo, and a couple other martial arts forms – I'm best in Judo, because I'm skinner and weaker than most of the guys I fight against. But we're not going to touch any of that yet. First we're going to learn really basic defense techniques."

"Okay, like what?"

"Well…" I think. "Have you ever tried to stop someone that's attacking you from behind?"

"No."

"Then let's start there." I kneel down and reach over to tap her shoe. She pulls back, initially, and I look up at her. After meeting my eyes for a moment, she puts her foot back, and I smile encouragingly. I tap her heel. "Your heel is the strongest bone in your body," I say. "Your hand or fingers might break if you throw a hard enough punch, but your heel won't."

"You want me to punch with my heel?" she says incredulously.

My smile widens into a grin, and I stand up. "No, I want you to kick back with it. If someone attacks you from behind, you lift your leg up like this…" I demonstrate. "And then shove down really hard on the person's toes or instep. The instep is the inside of the foot, right along here." I lift my foot in the air and point along the inside of my sneaker. "This is also the part of your foot you use to kick a soccer ball, the front half of the instep."

"Okay," she says.

"Want to try it?" I ask. She nods. "Okay. Turn around. I'm going to put my arms around you like I'm trying to attack you, but I'm not going to hurt you. When I do, I want you to try what I just showed you."

She nods again and turns around. I put one arm over her shoulder and down her chest, and the other arm around her waist. She awkwardly shoves her foot down, missing my shoe. "I can't see where your feet are when you're behind me!" she says, sounding disappointed as she gives another half-hearted kick.

"I know. That's okay. It takes practice. Try again." This time she hits my foot on the first try, but she's using the length of her foot to do it. "Okay, you aimed well but your kick didn't have any power," I say. "You need to use your heel to give it power – although, please don't try to break my toes," I add.

"Wouldn't it just be easier to get away like this?" she asks, and she starts to squirm under my arms, nudging and pushing like a cat trying to wrestle free. At least she doesn't have claws. I start to chuckle, and then one shoulder bumps my chest, dangerously close to my wound. I gasp and instinctively pull back. My grip loosens and she breaks free, grinning. "See?" she says.

"It would be easier, if the person attacking you was already hurt," I say, protectively covering my wound with my hand. Her young brow furrows.

"Did I hurt you?" she asks.

"No, no," I say. "You missed the bullet wound, but…" Her jaw drops. I groan inwardly. Maybe I should just invite my foot to live in my mouth.

"You got _shot_?" she squeals, eyes wide. "When? Why? Are you okay? Is there a gang out for you or something?"

I chuckle at her shocked concern. "No, there isn't a gang after me." I'm pretty sure Jack killed off Vladimir's gang after I brutally stabbed the bastard to death.

"Well, what happened? Did you almost die?"

"It was a bad one," I admit, "but I'm fine. It happened just before we moved here."

"…Can I see it?"

The immortal curiosity of children. "Maybe some other time," I say. "I can't take my shirt off in the middle of the quad, you know." I offer her a smile and a shrug. "Just, do me a favor and take it easy on this…" I gesture. "…general area."

Tania nods seriously. "I will."

"Want to try it again?"

"Sure."

* * *

"How'd it go?" Jack asks as he sorts through the mail.

I drop my keys on the counter and stretch out my arms with a moan, one that's not entirely faked when my wound stings. "Not bad. I probably shouldn't have worried about stretching out. I just showed her some ways to stop an attack from behind. We got a little sidetracked, but at the end of the hour, she was hitting my foot every time." I pause. "I think tomorrow I'll give her a different part of my body to practice on."

"Heh. Want a test dummy?" He stands and puts his hands on my waist.

"Hmm, maybe."

"Want a backrub?"

"That's even more tempting."

He turns me and guides me toward the bedroom, kissing me behind the ear. "Then let me make up for overreacting." I lay out on the bed and he straddles me.

"Then I should give you a backrub, too, to make up for…_mmm_."

His breath is hot in my ear when he murmurs, "You were saying?" I could swear there's a smirk in his voice.

"I'll make it up to you tomorrow," I mumble. He chuckles.


	15. Chapter 15

Eventually my stomach rumbles, and I look at the clock that's conveniently on the nightstand right in front of me. It's almost six. I frown. Has Jack been… But Jack's not atop me, rubbing my back. I look around, and then I feel a warm hand on my arm.

"I'm here."

I roll over, to see Jack stretched out beside me, his elbow on the pillow and his chin on his hand. I must have dozed off. I can't remember the last time I napped… I've gotten used to being lazy, I guess. "Hey," I say. "When did I doze off?"

"Not long ago," he says. "Maybe ten minutes."

"Hmm. Why didn't you wake me?" I'm not mad, just curious.

"You looked peaceful. Besides…" He grins. "…I didn't need to. Your stomach woke you for me."

I smile and he kisses my brow. "How about some of that stew for dinner?" he asks.

"Sure."

He kisses me again, on the lips softly, before getting up. "Don't move," he says. "I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, he comes out with two bowls of microwave'd stew in his hands. "He massages and he brings dinner to bed. If I'm not careful, some other woman will fall head over heels for you and steal you away," I say, accepting a bowl.

Jack settles back onto the bed next to me. "Wild – you know what? Forget the wild horses. The president, the director of CTU, and every terrorist in the world couldn't drag me away, let alone another woman." I chuckle and he holds up his bowl. "Shall we try this again?" he murmurs.

I grin, nod, and clink my bowl against his. "Yeah."

* * *

Sometimes it's easy, and sometimes it's the most unbearable want in the world. And sometimes it's somewhere in-between. I pace in the bedroom. "I don't want a cigarette, I don't want a cigarette," I mutter, lying to myself. I stop, and sigh. It's one thing to lie to yourself, and it's another to lie so unconvincingly. I wouldn't fool a child with these lies, so how can I expect myself to believe that I don't want a cigarette?

…Because I have to keep trying. I have to remember that while I admittedly like the feel of smoking, I hate its side effects. I hate that it could give me cancer. I hate that it makes me feel weak and dependent. I hate that it gives me bad breath and makes me cough. I hate that if I continue, I'll start to snore at night and hack phlegm in the shower when I hope no one's listening.

I know I agreed to help make lunch, but I'm feeling so jittery. So needy. So weak. I begin to pace some more. Jack's waiting in the kitchen for me to get done – he thinks I'm in the bathroom still. Eventually he'll start on his own – he's like that, not needing anyone's help, and too laid back to be angry that I didn't help make sandwiches.

I don't want to leave him hanging. I don't want him to do all the work. I want to help, but I don't know how I can face him right now. What if the first words out of my mouth are, "What did you do with my fucking cigarettes?"…? I would be mortified.

Then I remember the note I found two days ago. I take it out of my pocket, and unfold it. I read it over and over, until my eyes only seem to see the words, "You'll beat this. I love you…" and then only the words, "I love you…"

I don't even notice that Jack is coming until I hear his voice. "Renee, honey, are you –"

I freeze, feeling like the cat that got caught going after the canary. He sees me with his note in my hands. My cheeks go hot. I didn't really want him to know that I saved it to comfort me.

"I see you found it," he says.

I look down and go to sit heavily on my side of the bed. "Yeah…"

He walks in and sits down beside me. "Are you all right?" he asks.

"…I don't know."

Jack puts his hand on my leg, his thumb rubbing softly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was going to move them."

"What…what did you do with them?" I say.

"Do you really want to know?"

"…Not really." It'll be easier, I think.

He kisses my cheek. "I meant what I said. You'll beat this. I know you will."

I'm not sure he realizes that that wasn't the part of the note that I most wanted him to confirm.

* * *

We make the sandwiches in silence. Jack is so at ease in the kitchen. No matter how often I observe him at his easiest, it never fails to amaze me how much he takes him stride. Sometimes he's intense, and sometimes he just…is. And this moment is of the latter.

He catches me staring, and his hands pause in their work of spreading mayonnaise on the bread. "What is it?" he asks.

I smile. "Nothing."

"Well, keep looking at me like that and we'll never finish making lunch." He smiles too, in the way that makes my stomach do little flip-flops.

"Would that be so bad?" I ask, since I can't resist teasing him a little.

He does a double take of me, then smirks, and swipes the flat side of the spreading knife over my nose, leaving behind a small blob of mayonnaise hanging. "Jack!" I say, laughing.

"Yes?"

"Here." I squirted a bit of mustard at his cheek, and it ended up over his nose and lips because he turned his head when I spoke. I start to chuckle and he tugs me close. He licks the mayonnaise off my nose, and I lick and kiss the mustard from his nose and lips. Maybe they're not the most romantic of condiments, but we like them anyway.

* * *

We finish making the sandwiches and sit down to eat. "Are you going to teach Tania again today?" he asks.

"Not today," I say. "We have another session in the works for Wednesday, though."

"Hmm." Jack swallows and says, "How's your wound feeling?"

"No better or worse than it did yesterday."

"Can I have a look at it later?"

He's got those concerned eyes again, so I nod.

I clean up the dishes and Jack washes his hands. I'm almost done when he finishes drying his hands, and we go sit down on the couch.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes," I say, and undo the snap buttons that go all the way down my navy shirt. I push the fabric aside and he helps me peel back the gauze.

"It looks like it's getting along," he says, peering at the hole. "When's your follow-up appointment?"

"Tomorrow," I say. "Tuesday."

Jack hesitates, and then sits back. "Showing Tania how to defend herself is one thing," he says. "Practicing those defenses is another. I think it would be a good idea to clear it with Dr. Shaw before you really get into this."

My first reaction is annoyance, but then I smile with a sigh, because I know he's right. "I agree," I say.

He kisses my brow. "I'm not trying to run your life," he says. "I just want you to be okay."

"I know, Jack. I agreed because it was a good idea. Believe me, I know the difference between controlling and caring." I push the gauze back in place and start snapping up my shirt.

"And you'll tell me if something's bothering you, right?" he asks.

I hesitate. "Like what?"

"Anything."

Relaxing, I nod. "I will."

"Good." He kisses me softly on the lips and stands up. "How about some dessert?" he asks, starting to walk back into the kitchen.

I bite my lip and stand up, turning. "Jack…wait." He stops and turns, concern back in his eyes. "I… Something is bothering me."

Jack walks back over, squeezes my arm, and guides me to sit on the couch. He sits beside me, and says, "What is it?"

"You…I…" I huff. "Shit. This is stupid."

"No, it's not. Stay, please. You can tell me anything," he says.

"Well…" I exhale a little shakily. Hell. I'm just going to have to blurt it. "I've told you I love you. I told you in the hospital and I told you before that, but you haven't…not since…"

Jack covers my mouth with his, kissing me deeply and lazily. I barely have time to respond to the kiss when he pulls back. "I do love you," he whispers. He clears his throat, and then says a little more loudly, "I wasn't sure you wanted to hear it, when I visited you in the hospital. And, I guess I didn't want to say it because I was still reeling from the fact that I could tell you I love you and then so quickly hurt you so badly. I'm sorry I didn't say it before, but…"

"But you're not the best at sharing," I fill in. He nods.

I laugh softly, and hold his head in mine. "That's okay," I say. "I read the note and guess I just… I've missed you saying it."

Jack smiles. "I love you."

I kiss him on the lips. "I love you, too."


	16. Chapter 16

"We have been invited to a family picnic," Jack says, hanging up the phone. At my puzzled look, he says, "Kim's. They have one once a month. It's on Saturday."

"Yeah?" I say.

Jack nods. "Stephen's parents will be there, and his brothers." He pauses, trying to figure out what I'm thinking or feeling, I guess. "We don't have to go if you don't want to."

To be honest, a family picnic with Stephen's family sounds a little overwhelming. "Do you want to go?" I ask.

"It could be fun," he says, shrugging. "I've never met Stephen's family, either, so it'd be new for both of us. But Kim and Teri will be there."

"Then we should go," I say.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"I'm sure." I smile. I'm not at all sure about this, but a relationship is full of give and takes – and I refuse to only take. I can go to a picnic and meet Stephen's relatives. I mean, being Jack's girlfriend means accepting Kim – not a real hardship anyway – and accepting Kim means accepting Stephen, which means accepting Stephen's family, whether they're the nicest people on the planet or the most obnoxious. Besides, it's not like I'll become best buddies with Stephen's mother. I probably won't ever see them outside of family functions anyway.

"It's getting around that time," Jack says, glancing at a clock. 6:21. "What should we do for dinner?"

Feeling impulsive, I kiss him. When I pull back, he's grinning.

"I meant food," he says.

"I know," I say. "You should grab a shower, and let me take care of dinner."

"Renee –"

I silence him with another kiss. "You always take care of me," I murmur. "Let me take care of you." Besides, I can handle my share of chores and things; on the less-romantic hand, I need to do something to make myself feel useful.

"Okay…" he says.

He looks so reluctant that I have to chuckle and kiss him, for the third time, soundly on the lips. "I'm not a bad cook, I promise. Not the best, but not bad."

"That's not what I was worried about."

"Okay then. Shoo. Get refreshed and relaxed while I get dinner together."

Jack's lips curl up in a half-smile, the one that made my stomach flip-flop from day one. "Thank you," he says, kissing my cheek. His hand travels down my arm in one last caress as he goes down the hall to the master bedroom.

* * *

In my impulsive moment, I planned enough to take on the duty of making dinner, but not enough to know what I was making. I shift through the fridge and cabinets. Well, Old Mother Hubbard, the cupboard isn't bare but it isn't exactly brimming with options either.

We have a package of ground beef, so I drag out a stroganoff quick-fix box and get to work. I've never been the best cook – hence the Betty Crocker Hamburger Helper – but there is something relaxing about cooking, once you get down to it. The beef sizzles in the pan as I break it down. In a matter of minutes, the meat is brown, and I add the necessary milk, noodles, powdered flavor…

I let the stroganoff cook with the microwave timer counting down, and start looking for something to add on the side. The best side I can find is canned corn, so I dump it in a pot and set it to boil, too.

I step back and survey the kitchen critically, trying to decide if there's something else I can do. What would really set off the meal is a loaf of French bread, but we don't have that, so I pull out slices of sandwich bread and butter them.

Jack comes out just as the timer gets to twelve seconds. "Hey, it smells good," he says, smiling. He's wearing a pair of sweat pants and no shirt. If he keeps up this shirtless thing, I'm going to hit a moment when I can't keep my hands off him. He walks up and hugs me, his hands rubbing my back in slow circles.

"You do, too," I say, nuzzling his neck. His chest rumbles with his chuckles.

"Timer's going," he says.

I step out of his embrace and turn the stove off, and the timer. Jack pulls down plates, and I head for the cups. "What do you want to drink?"I ask.

"A coke would be great, thanks."

I pour a coke for him, and for myself I pour a lemonade-sprite concoction. "It tastes better than it looks," I say, laughing at his bewildered expression.

Jack nods, but he's got this look of acceptance on his face, as though he's decided he'll never understand the quirks of women and that it's fine by him. I swallow a laugh and join him at the table.

It's nice, being able to sit down to a meal…an actual meal, and not leftover takeout, at an actual table and not the desk in a shabby bedroom, with an actual person to keep comfortable silence with, instead of the ghosts that help you harbor self-resentment and bad memories. Not for the first time, Jack notices my staring, and says, "What is it?" with that small, confused but bemused smile of his.

I just shrug and say, "Nothing."

* * *

I take my own shower after dinner, and my skin is still warm and moist when I pull on pajama shorts and one of Jack's old tee shirts. It's far too big for me, but all my sleepwear tees are dirty. I make a mental note to drag my clothes down to the laundromat in the morning, and meander out into the living room.

Jack's sitting on the couch, browsing the T.V. He looks up and smiles, waving me over. "It's cliché, but you look better in that than I do," he says. He puts and arm around my shoulders and keeps flipping through channels.

"Thanks," I say. "Nothing good on?"

"Not that I've seen." He pauses on a news channel, where the anchor headline reads, "Girl, 14, Homicide Victim." I look down at his hand, holding the remote with his arm rested on the armrest. His thumb rubs over the buttons for a moment, and then quickly presses down on the button to go up to the next channel. He's not being callous about the girl's death. I look over his face, watching the lines deepen moodily. He cares very much. Maybe too much. His life has been full of casualty after casualty. He's had to kill…probably over a hundred people in the span of his military, police, and terrorist defense careers. But every life he's taken was in the interest of saving millions more – in the interest of "those fifteen people on a bus," as he once explained to me. The idea that someone could commit a murder, in any kind of domestic setting, is unfathomable.

And I have to understand where that kind of thinking comes from. Isn't it bad enough that we have to fight murderers in the terrorist, mobs, and political rings, without the innocent civilians we're trying to protect killing each other?

Jack settles on a movie, some kind of comedy, but he doesn't look like he's too into it. I scoot closer and lean my head against his shoulder. After a moment, I feel his lips pressing against my hairline, and his arm tightens around me.

* * *

_I wave to Tania as I leave the basketball courts. She sticks her tongue out at me, and then turns into a fish. "Don't stay out of your bowl too long," I tell her, and then I walk upstairs to the apartment._

_The door's not locked, so I re-pocket my key and go inside. "Hey, honey," I say. A strange aroma wafts over from the kitchen. I hang up my coat and scarf, because it's always cold in L.A. "What's cooking?"_

_Vladimir appears in front of me. "Jack Bauer," he sneers. He lifts a knife and thrusts it at my face. I don't move, but I scream and fall to the floor when it pierces me._

"_All that's missing," he says, standing over me, holding something bloody and gooey in his hands, "is an eye."_

I gasp, clutching at the sheets. I'm sweaty and shaking, laying face-up on our bed. A beam of light…moonlight, streetlight, who knows…sits quietly on the ceiling. The room, mostly bare, seems to quiet and peaceful in the wake of that short but vividly brutal nightmare.

I feel Jack's sleeping form next to me. I want to roll over and hug him, bury my face in his back, in his neck, his shoulder, anything, but I'm all sweaty and nervous and honestly, just freaked out. I'm guaranteed to wake him and I don't want to disturb his sleep. God knows he gets enough nightmares of his own without needing to hear about mine. And I don't think anybody would appreciate my hot, sweaty body on them anyway.

I look over his shoulder. The clock says it's one-thirteen a.m. Great. I sigh, and get up carefully, trying to make sure I don't wake him up. I don't have any clean shirts and I don't really want to be caught rummaging through his things in the middle of the night, so I just shake out his tee as I start to walk out of the room.

Every shadow between the bedroom and the kitchen looks exactly like Vladimir – and there are a lot of shadows in a dark apartment at one-thirteen a.m. I take a glass and pour myself a glass of water, but I have to bite my tongue to keep from startling at the sound of the water pouring from the faucet, which is about three times louder than it should be.

Hell. One nightmare and I'm jumpier than a skittish cat.

"Renee?"

This time I do startle, choking on the water I'd just started to sip, even though I realize in seconds that the voice I heard was not the voice of that abusive lunatic, but the voice of Jack, who I love and trust very much.

"I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to startle you," he says, concern ringing in every syllable. He steps up behind me and starts rubbing my back.

"It's okay," I say, wiping my mouth.

"Are _you_ okay?"

I don't have the energy to be anything but bluntly honest…with him and myself. "I don't think I am," I whisper.

His hand stops rubbing my back. Then his arms are sliding around me, turning me to face him. He keeps one arm wrapped around my middle, and palms my cheek with his free hand. In the dull light given by the yellow bulb over the sink, his eyes are half-closed with tiredness, but very caring. That hand slides up behind my ear, and pulls my head gently to his shoulder.

Jack holds me, sweat and shakes and all, until I'm ready to go back to bed, and then he cradles me in the crook of his arm, until I finally fall asleep.

* * *

Writer's Note: Thank you for all your reviews! :) Hmm... I'm not sure I want Renee's nightmares...


	17. Chapter 17

"Good morning, Renee," Dr. Shaw says, closing the door behind her. "How are you today?"

"Alright," I say.

"Hmm, and how's the injury coming along? Have you noticed any pus or bleeding?"

"No."

"Well, let me take a look, okay?" She says it while nodding, and even though it's phrased like a question and sounds like a question, it's not. I know better than to be uncooperative with the doctor, especially a good one, so I pull off my shirt and let her peel back the bandaging. "Mmm, that does look better," she says agreeably. "Have you been taking the antibiotics?"

"Yes, I have."

"Good. You should only have a couple weeks' worth left, is that correct?"

"Probably. I don't count them out," I add, when her eyebrows rise. "I just take one a day, as per doctor's orders."

Dr. Shaw smiles. "Okay, then. Be sure to finish that bottle. It's very important, because bacteria –"

"Can adapt to an antibiotic and render it useless if I don't," I finish. "I've been prescribed antibiotics several times before. The head FBI medic could put Nurse Carol to shame in hounding, believe me."

She laughs. "That does surprise me. How long have you been in the FBI? Should I be calling you Special Agent Walker instead?"

"No, just Renee," I say, smiling tightly. "I'm no longer with the FBI."

Dr. Shaw nods, and doesn't question further. "Well, you're coming along nicely. I just have some paperwork for you to fill out, and then you can be on your way. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Oh, yes. There's this girl living in the apartment complex we recently moved to, and I wanted to give her some self-defense lessons. Am I going to be able to participate, or should someone else do the demonstrations?"

"Well, what you ultimately do is up to you, as a law-abiding adult citizen, but my recommendation? Take it easy until you're ready to go into physical therapy. No crazy ninja moves, okay? If that wound opens up, it's a lot more likely it'll get infected."

"Okay. Thank you, Dr. Shaw."

She smiles at me again, and squeezes my shoulder before leaving the room, clipboard in hand. A few minutes later, the same chirpy nurse that tended to me last time comes bursting in. "Hey there!" she says. "It's good to see you in one piece!"

"Thanks," I say, smiling wryly.

"Here's your paperwork." She hands me a thin stack of official-looking papers, with font that has to be size nine at biggest. Good grief. No wonder people don't read these things. "Just hand them to Nadine at the counter. And don't come back, ya hear?" She giggles and leaves the room before I can answer. Weird, weird nurse.

I fill out the paperwork. After the first half-hour, my neck starts to cramp from leaning over nonstop. I straighten and roll my head from side to side, and then get back to it. Five minutes later, everything is filled out, except for my signature and the emergency contact information. I write in Jack's cell phone number and our apartment number, and his name on the appropriate line. On the line next to "RELATIONSHIP," I write down "girlfriend." Part of me wants to write down "partner," too, but since we aren't working together in any professional capacity, that would confuse them. They wouldn't understand how we qualify as partners if "partner" doesn't mean the same thing as "girlfriend."

I'm not sure I understand, either. Jack and I didn't work together flawlessly the day we met – not by any stretch of the imagination – and the second day we met was no better. But we had a trust and…something else…chemistry, I guess…that just runs deeper than any relationship within a well-oiled mechanical partnership.

And lastly, the signature. My pen hesitates over the solid black line. If I sign this document, with everything I've written down, I make Jack the first person notified if I'm in an accident. I give consent for Jack Bauer to make any medical decisions concerning my welfare should I be unable to do so myself.

Swallowing, I sign the papers.

* * *

Jack stands up when I walk into the waiting room. He smiles and squeezes my arm when I come near. "How'd it go?" he asks.

"Fine," I say. "Dr. Shaw said it's healing fine, but that I should take it easy with the lessons."

He nods. "I thought she might say that."

I give him a grin. "Why, did you bribe her?"

"Who, me? Never." He chuckles. "Ready to go home?"

"Yes." I can never get out of hospitals quickly enough. Jack lightly rests his hand at the small of my back as we head for the front. I drop my papers off at the desk and we leave.

It's a warm day in L.A. – who knew? Jack waves over a taxi. I should probably look into getting a bicycle or something, if I'm not going to get a car. If there's no sense in ringing up bills by getting a car, then there's definitely no sense in ringing up bills in frequent taxi rides. But Jack doesn't seem to mind any of this.

My mind stays fixated on finances. It's always finances, or smoking, or my past, or Jack. In fact, with the exception of Tania, my newest focus, every focus I've had has either been Jack, Jack-related, or negative. I'm starting to think that this can't be healthy when Jack says, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say.

"You seemed preoccupied," he says.

"Oh, sorry, were you saying something?"

"No." Jack pauses, then puts his hand on my thigh. "You don't have to be the tough agent, Renee."

I smile, though I'm sure the smile doesn't reach my eyes. "I know," I say. "Thanks."

Jack brushes his thumb over the seam of my jeans. "Yeah," he says.

* * *

"The weather's great today," Jack says a few hours later. "Why don't we go out?"

It is nice out. Sunny, breezy, not too hot, not too cold. "Okay," I agree. "What do you want to do?"

"Let's go to the park," he says.

Two pairs of sneakers and a taxi ride later, we're in the park. It's not what I'd expect from southern California – it's lush and green and beautiful. Low, rolling hills and trees, with full leaves the yellow-green color of spring. "Wow, this is nice," I say. "Is this where the picnic's going to be?"

"Yeah," Jack says, holding my hand as we walk down one of the gravel paths.

"Getting me used to the territory in preparation for Saturday?" I ask, smirking.

Jack chuckles. "Something like that. But it is a nice day."

"Tired of being cooped up in the apartment," I say. It's not really a question, because I know exactly how that is.

Jack nods. Then he tugs on my arm and swings our hands over my head so that his arm lands around my shoulders, still holding my hand. The surprise of it makes me chuckle.

"You giggled!" he says, pretending to be shocked.

"I did not!" I say. "I chuckle. I laugh. I do not giggle."

"Well, I think you giggled."

Another chuckle escapes me. "I do not giggle."

"You just did again!"

"Not."

"Tuh. You fibber," he says, amused.

Annoyed and with zero comeback, I bump his hip. Jack laughs and bumps mine back, harder. I can't help being a little competitive, so I try to put a little "oomph" into my next bump. We engage in a sort of a "Battle of the Bumping Hips" – damn, that sounds dirty… - and soon we're pushing and shoving like teenagers. Jack's careful to avoid my wound, and I'm careful to avoid the various tender spots on his body, still left over from the beatings given by the Russians and various other bad guys several weeks ago. It's strange how we, two people who know better than anyone the old adage of "all's fair in love and war," can play so fairly with each other.

Caught in the heat of the moment, I dodge his next shove and start running off the path toward this giant tree. I look back over my shoulder, to see if he's still playing, and sure enough he's chasing me. He's totally and completely caught in the moment, too.

By the time I reach the tree, I'm huffing and my wound is sore from my jarring steps. I turn only to find myself being trapped, Jack's hands on either side of my head. He's laughing, those chuckles short and deep. "Caught you," he says, with the slightest hint of breathlessness.

My own breath caught in the space of time that I was hypnotized by his face, his eyes, I say calmly, "Yes, you did."

My lips turn up in a smile just as he covers them with his own. After a few short kisses, he pulls back and brushes my hair behind my ear. "Renee Walker?" he asks.

"Yes, Jack Bauer?" I say.

"Don't ever change." He kisses me again, sliding his tongue over mine as he presses more fully against me.

A part of me considers telling him that change is inevitable, but…I lose that train of thought, as his kiss continues. I slide my hands up. One hand clutches the collar at his nape, and one hand trails fingers through his hair, which is almost as long as was the day we met, now. (It was probably cut for some reason during his treatment, or it fell out.)

Jack groans into my mouth, and I'm pretty sure I sigh back as I practically melt. What was I thinking again?

* * *

We lay in the grass under that tree, letting the shade and the breeze cool us. We're not touching – we needed to calm down a bit after that, because Jack, who has violated at least fifty different federal laws, shies at sex in public settings, desolate or not. However, we're not far away, either; there's barely half a foot of distance between us, and I swear when we don't talk, I can hear his breathing, and Jack's a quiet breather – a trait left over from stealth missions, I'd bet.

I stretch and bend my arms over my head so that my palms lie beneath my head. "So, you have a birthday coming up," I say casually, remembering Kim's visit.

Jack groans, although it's a very different groan from the ones I heard a few minutes ago. "Please tell me you're not a birthday fanatic."

"I am in no way a birthday fanatic," I say, smirking. "But birthdays are a fun thing."

"Why? It's just another day."

"Okay, Mr. Cynical," I say, rolling on my side to face him, "are you telling me you've never had a fun birthday?"

"Of course I wasn't saying that," he says."It's just, well, my birthday is just another day to remind me how old I am."

I don't believe it. The man that practically oozes confidence is sensitive about his age? I brush a twig off his head, and he looks at me. There's an emotion in those blue eyes that I just don't know how to name. "Don't think of it like that," I murmur. "Think about it as..." I inhale and exhale deeply. "…a day for everyone that loves you to show you exactly how much they appreciate having you in their lives."

"That's not a lot of people," he says.

He must be thinking about everyone he's lost – friends, colleagues, family. My hand trails down to his cheek. "It's a lot more people than I had before you came back into my life," I say. It sounds so corny and self-pitying, and I'd rephrase it in a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry," Jack says.

I shake my head. "No, that's not what I meant," I say. "What I mean is, it's not the quantity of the people who love you – it's the quality."

Jack smiles. "In that case, I have the best people."

I smile back. "So do I."

Jack leans over to kiss me. It's sweet and loving.

People like Jack and I, we're horrible sometimes. We lie, we deceive, we hurt each other. But we also love, protect, and care for each other, and I think the latter overrules the former.

_But _- I don't care what Jack says. I do not giggle.

...Much...

* * *

Writer's Note: Tsk, tsk, Renee, such denial. Anyway, thanks for your reviews, everyone. :)


	18. Chapter 18

"That was a really good idea, Jack," I say.

"Yeah, thanks," he says. We're holding hands as we walk up the stairs to our apartment.

…_Our_ apartment. Heh.

Two figures approach us – one short and skinny, and one tall. I recognize one as Tania, but I don't know the man she's with. He's dark-haired and dark-eyed, and has his arm around her shoulder. He surveys us, and gives us a short nod and a smile, and prepares to pass us.

Tania, though, has other plans. She pulls back from the man's half-embrace and says, "Renee, are you still going to teach me tomorrow?" She says it in a voice that practically shouts, "Disappoint me like everyone else. I _dare_ you."

"Yes, of course," I say.

"Wait, what's this?" the man asks, frowning.

"Renee's teaching me self-defense, Jeb."

The man's still bewildered, so I decide to start at the beginning. "I'm Renee Walker," I say, holding out my hand. Some women don't like to shake hands, and it's okay in proper etiquette for us not to, but I always liked that professional firm handshake. This is just a meet-and-greet, but he shakes my hand anyway, politely and firm.

"Jeb Reed."

Jack slips his hand out of mine and offers it to Jeb next. "Jack Bauer," he says. "We just moved in almost two weeks ago."

"Really? And the welcoming party didn't attack you?" Jeb says with a grin. "How'd you pull that off?" Before we can reply, Jeb seems to realize something, and looks down at Tania. He puts a hand on each shoulder and says, "Tania, you know you're not supposed to talk to strangers without me."

"They're not strangers," she says, bunching up her nose. "They're Renee and Jack. And anyway, I only talked to Renee. And once she's done teaching me, I'll be able to defend myself against anyone!"

I wince at the girl's sassy confidence. When we get into the harder stuff, I'll be sure to tell her that there's always going to be someone that can defeat you.

Jeb looks back up at us, his hands sliding off Tania's shoulders. "Self-defense, huh?" I nod. "That's really nice of you. Thank you. Tania, did you say thank you?"

"Thank you," she says dully, dutifully. I choke back a chuckle.

"Well, we've got to get going. Parent-teacher meeting." When Jeb sees my confused look, he explains, "I'm Tania's uncle and guardian. My sister passed away when Tania was four."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jack says.

I nod in agreement, but questions start whirling in my mind. Where's the father? How long has Tania been under the guardianship of her uncle? …

We say our goodbyes and Jack and I slip into our apartment. "What's wrong?" Jack asks.

"Nothing…"

"Renee, I see the look on your face. I see the wheels turning in your head." He touches my arm. "What's wrong?"

I bite my lip and then say, "Do you remember me saying that I think Tania's been abused at one point in her life?"

"Yeah. Do you think Jeb's the one that did it?" he says, looking doubtful.

"No. I don't know. But it leaves me to wonder, between the uncle and the father…"

"Yes?" he prompts.

"Which one of them smoked."

* * *

Neither one of us feels like cooking, so I order us a pizza for dinner. "They don't have anchovies, Jack," I say.

"What? No anchovies? What kind of a pizza place doesn't have anchovies?"

"One that ran out around noon. What about pepperoni?"

"Pepperoni's fine," he says.

"Give us pepperoni instead," I tell the man on the other side.

"'_Kay, so that's one medium pizza with green pepper, black olive and pepperoni. Anything else?_"

"That's it."

"_Your total will come to eleven thirty-two. Delivery or pick-up?_"

"Delivery." I give him our address.

"_It'll be there in under an_ _hour_."

After saying goodbye, I hang up the phone. "We've got a little under an hour," I say.

"Sounds good," Jack says.

"While we're waiting for it to get here," I say, putting my hands on his clothed chest, "we could grab a shower."

"I like that idea," he says.

I kiss him, and he kisses me back. He takes the lead, pulling me into the bedroom and then the bathroom. He undresses me slowly, peppering my skin with dry kisses, and I do the same to him. We stumble into the shower. I feel unable to keep my hands off him. I want to feel him, taste him. I want to forget all about Tania's abuse and my addiction and my unemployment and the upcoming picnic – but, most of all, I just want Jack.

* * *

Jack breathes heavily into my shoulder. He lifts his head and kisses the corner of my mouth. "I'll grab us a towel," he says, sliding the glass door open. I nod and shut off the water. I'm still hot and tingly, and I'm surprised that my legs support me when I step out of the shower.

He wraps the towel around me, uses it to tug me closer to him. We're nose to nose and I smile, watching him through my own half-lidded eyes. I'm feeling far too satisfied and laid-back to protest when he starts to dry me. "You're next," I promise quietly.

"I won't argue against that," he says. "Your hands are welcome on me anytime."

I chuckle and give him a playful, half-hearted shove. "Mmm-hmm."

He pauses at my wound, and bends to kiss it, ever so gently. He doesn't say anything, but I know he's wishing he'd done things differently. "Hey," I say. His eyes meet mine. I finger the patch of gauze over his lower left abdomen. He's never changed it in front of me, never complained about it, and sometimes I'm able to forget about it… "It's not like I've never hurt you."

"You didn't know it was me. And besides, I'd rather you have stabbed the man that took you from behind, and have that man be me, than have you not stab him, and have that man turn out be a Russian bastard about to kill you for killing Vlad."

"On that note, I'm glad that man shot me and not Teri."

"It's not the same," he says, although I see from the shame in his eyes that he must feel that, too. He shouldn't feel ashamed. Putting a child first is the most natural human response, particularly when it's your own child or grandchild.

"The more preferable outcome happened in both cases," I say.

"I wish neither of you was shot."

"Still, if one of us had to be shot, it's much better that it was me. A child wouldn't have survived that."

Jack kisses me firmly, almost pleadingly, and I know this conversation is over, for his sake, if not both of our sakes. "We should get dried quickly," I say. "The pizza will be here soon."

He smiles. "Yeah. Okay."

* * *

Pizza is good. Hot, gooey. Except for the black olives. I pick those off. "Here," I say, dropping my olives on Jack's plate.

"I thought you liked olives," he says, surprised.

"Nope," I say with a shake of my head.

"You should have said something. We didn't have to get olives if you don't like them."

I laugh. "Jack, I've been picking off undesirable pizza toppings since I was five years old. It's no problem."

"Okay," he says reluctantly.

Smiling, I change the topic. "So, what can I expect from this picnic on Saturday?" I drop a few more olives onto his plate.

"Food. Relatives. Other than that, I'm not sure."

"What do you know about Stephen's family?"

"The brothers are finishing up their freshman year of college. The parents are retired. I think his father did something with mechanics, but I don't really know."

I nod. "Okay."

Jack gives me a worried look. "If you don't feel comfortable going, we don't have to."

"Would you go if I don't?" I say pointedly.

"No."

"My point exactly. I'm going."

He sighs. "What if I won't go if you don't want to?"

"Jack!" I laugh. "We're both going. Should we bring anything?"

"I've offered to bring shortcake as a desert," he says.

I smirk. "I like that shortcake," I say. "It's too bad we won't be alone."

Jack coughs around a mouthful of pizza, and I rub his back as he swallows. "A more private picnic _can _be arranged," he says.

"A picnic might be too public for the things that shortcake reminds me of," I say, thinking about Jack's aversion to sex in the park. (Well, to be fair, sex in the park isn't exactly a turn-on for me, either, but when Jack's got me hot and bothered, I don't really care where we are.)

He swallows again, and smiles. "I'll tell Kim I'm bringing brownies instead," he murmurs, kissing me on the lips.

The kiss deepens for all of two seconds before I pull back, my nose wrinkling. "Yeck, you taste like black olives."

"Is that so?" he says, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Well, then…" He leans in to kiss me again, and I lead a chase back to the bedroom, with Jack trailing behind me, trying to kiss me anywhere and everywhere with his olive-tainted mouth.

Eventually, I let him kiss me anyway, because olives or no olives, Jack is a great kisser.

* * *

_He shoves me down onto the couch, presses his hips against mine and clutches my hands above my head. There's plenty of room on the couch, because it's extra long, just like I told Jack we should get, but Vladimir doesn't care; I'm almost bent backwards over the armrest. He rips my clothes open and licks his slimy tongue all over me._

"_You thought you were too good for me," Vladimir says. "Now you're just my whore." He thrusts into me, onto me, grabs me, gropes me, pinches me, pulls me. He tears me into little pieces, and then gets up, whistling. He opens a small box and pours the contents over me. Sixteen skinny little cigarettes land on the broken pieces that were my belly. _

"_She's yours to fix now," he says._

_Jack, who stands near the counter, looks at me and says, "Why?" He reaches for the shovel next to him, and starts shoveling burned cigarette butts onto me, until he buries me alive…_

I startle awake. I sit up. I can't stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks in currents. My breast starts to shake with sobs I try desperately to keep quiet.

"What is it?" Jack says groggily. Well, I've woken him, so I guess it's too late to keep quiet. The next sob escapes me more loudly than the others. He sits up and scoots over, his naked body pressing intimately against my naked body.

"Nightmare," I say, the word stuttered with my repressed sobbing.

Jack puts an arm around me, and kisses my temple. "Tell me about it," he suggests. "Talking about it might make it seem less real."

"Vladimir…" I don't want to tell him about the setting – our apartment. If he knows about that, he might never look at that couch the same way again, and it's bad enough that I probably won't. "He raped me," I say, closing my eyes. "And he got up and…shook cigarettes on me…and then said to you, 'She's yours to fix, now.' You…"

Jack lets me pause for a while and then says, "What did I do in the dream, honey?"

"You asked why, and started shoveling smoked cigarettes on me. And then you left."

He's quiet for a moment, but the thumb on my shoulder keeps rubbing. Finally, he says, "It was just a dream, Renee. You're not broken, and even if you were, I _would_ fix you, because you'd be worth every moment."

With every syllable he speaks in that heavy, soothing tone of his, I shake and sob less and less. "Thank you," I say, feeling calmer than I did five minutes before.

"It's the truth, but you're welcome anyway." He kisses my cheek, next, and says, "Your dream…it was just parts and pieces of experiences you've already had. You don't have to worry about any of it anymore. Not the rape, not cigarettes, and definitely not me burying you alive."

I chuckle, inappropriately. "Yeah. You know, even when I thought you were betraying me and Larry and everyone else in the country, I didn't really hate you."

He chuckles next. "You sure seemed to. These things are always funnier in hindsight, but I remember watching your eyes fill with fear-induced tears and hearing your voice adopt this brave tremor, and I hated myself for scaring you into thinking that I was actually going to execute you."

My cheeks heat a little with the description of my fear-induced tears and the brave tremor in my voice, but I nod. "Yeah. I understood why you did it, though, later – although I was still kind of pissed even then."

"I don't blame you. I _didn't_ blame you. I mean, first I put a sleeper hold on you, grab your suspect and _vamoose_, and then I capture you, take you out to an abandoned construction site and shoot you, and then bury you alive. I don't think I'd have been on anybody's Christmas card list for those things."

"Actually, for the first part…" I hesitate when I realize what I'm about to say. God, am I really about to share _this_ with him?

"The first part?"

"The sleeper hold."

"What about it?" he asks. I can just see his confused frown deepening.

I exhale loudly. "Well, I was more pissed off at myself than you."

"Renee, there's no way you could have seen me coming."

"Not that. I was pissed because even though I should have hated everything about you after that – during that – I was…well, I'd been pressed against your whole body and even though the sleeper hold isn't exactly comfortable…I still thought you were really hot," I admit.

Jack pulls back. "…Me squeezing you unconscious…_turned you on_?" he says, fully awake and incredibly incredulous.

"Not _turned on_, in the exact sense of being turned on," I say, embarrassed. "I just didn't stop being attracted to you." He starts to snort his chuckles, and I smack his shoulder. "I'm glad you find this funny," I snap.

"It's just…of all the reactions people have had to me knocking them unconscious…I think you're the first to be turned on!" he says, laughing outright now.

There's no "maybe" about it now – I'm definitely blushing furiously. Emphasis on the "furiously" part. "I'm so glad I shared that with you," I say, muttering it quietly under my breath. I lie back down and yank the covers back over me as I roll away from Jack, so that they slide off him. It's immature and cliché, I know, but hey, I'm annoyed, and it's better that than screaming or something.

"Renee?" he says, his laughter dying. "Oh, honey…" He scoots closer and kisses the back of my neck through my mess of hair. "I'm sorry I laughed at you," he says. "I was just surprised."

"I shouldn't have told you," I say. I hate how my voice trembles, ever so slightly, as I whisper, "I'm so embarrassed…" and I hope he can't hear it. How am I supposed to face him now that he knows that, during a time when I should have been professionally and personally outraged only, I was nevertheless attracted to him?

"I'm glad you told me," he says. "It means you trust me, if even a little. I'm sorry I laughed, and I hope you'll forgive me for embarrassing you, but…it _was_ funny, Renee."

His explanation calms me, and I stop to think about it. If our roles were switched, would I have laughed? Probably. "I guess it is kind of funny," I say reluctantly. I roll over to face him and smile wryly at him. "And I guess it would be stupid to not forgive you for this, when I've already forgiven you for…everything else." I whisper the last part, searching his shadowed face in an attempt to figure out his expression.

Jack looks stunned. "You have? Really?" he says softly. He brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes.

"Really," I say.

He swallows audibly. "Thank you," he says. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I see his shadowed face smile tenderly back at me. He kisses my nose and then my lips.

"Let's get some sleep, okay?" I murmur against his lips.

"Okay. …Can I hold you?" he asks.

I hesitate, and then press closer against his body, my head on the hard plane of his chest, and my leg thrown over his. He wraps an arm over me and covers us with the sheets. "Goodnight again, Renee," he says, yawning.

"Goodnight again, Jack."

* * *

Writer's Note: I don't really have anything important to say, so I'm just going to smile. So, :)


	19. Chapter 19

Jack makes the coffee this morning. "You've got a lesson with Tania this afternoon, right?" he says.

"That's right. Three o'clock, around the time school gets out."

"Well, in the meantime, I'd like to take you to see the sights."

"Yeah?" I say, curiously.

"Well, it occurred to me that you've been in L.A. for…what, a month now, and you still haven't seen the zoo, or the gardens, or the performing arts center…"

I smile as he hands me a mug of coffee. "You're not my tour guide, Jack. You don't have to make sure I see everything in a week. I don't plan on going anywhere, so we have all the time in the world."

"Well, in that case, what do you want to do today?" he asks.

I have no idea. "Anything that means we're back in time for me to teach Tania," I say. "I don't want to be the next one to disappoint that little girl, Jack."

* * *

Jack ends up taking me to the zoo. I haven't been to a zoo since…I don't even remember. But it's pretty fun. A few minutes ago, Jack dared me to touch the boa they brought out for interaction, which I did – I'm not afraid of snakes – and as I was feeling the nail-like scales, I suddenly felt something wrapping around my neck and squeezing – "He's gotcha!" he whispered. I jumped for about a second, before I realized that the "snake" was Jack's hands, loosely closed around my neck. I laughed and lightly smacked his shoulder, which was shaking with his own laughter.

We're walking toward the Asian elephants right now. I spy a pretzel stand with almost no line, and I touch Jack's arm briefly. "Jack, I'll be right back, I'm going to get a pretzel. You want anything?"

"Get one of those jumbo ones," he says, grinning. "We'll share."

"Okay," I say, smiling back.

He leans against the wooden fence surrounding a fox enclosure, and I jog over to the line, because a line in a zoo or amusement park can practically breed itself into a line ten times as long. I manage to snag third place in line before it gets any longer.

"Amazing, isn't it?" the lady in front of me says, her arms crossed with an unnecessary sweater folded over them.

"What is?" I ask.

"The line," she says. Was she reading my mind? "Or lack thereof," she adds, as the person in front of her walks away with a churro and a small drink. She steps up to the counter. "Three soft pretzels, no salt, one cheese pretzel with salt, and one lightly salted pretzel." She looks back at me and shrugs. "I'm buying for the whole family," she says. She points toward a parrot statue. "That's my husband over there, my two girls and my boy." A family of sandy-haired people are waiting, the boy staring at us, the girls bickering, and the father keeping a watchful eye on all three.

"They're beautiful," I say.

"And four lemonades – three small and one jumbo." She turns back to me. "They're a handful, a bunch of brats, but I love them to pieces." She doesn't say "brats" with any kind of negativity – she says it almost lovingly, like the word has taken on new meaning now that she associates it with her own children. "Do you have kids?" she asks as she starts to gather the snacks.

I chuckle, maybe a little wistfully. "No. My boyfriend has a granddaughter, and there's a young girl in my apartment complex that I've taken a liking to, but it's not the same."

"Oh, yeah," the woman says, sounding sad for me. "It's really not. But you never know when you might start expecting a little bundle of joy!" She winks at me. "Well, take care," she says, heading over to the giant parrot with an armful of snacks and drinks.

"You too," I say. I order a jumbo pretzel, wishing I'd thought to ask Jack whether he likes salt or not.

"You never know when you might start expecting a bundle of joy," she'd said. Well, all due respect to her, I'm not exactly twenty. Pregnant women over thirty are practically antique, and I'm pushing forty. In the next decade or so, I'll be hitting menopause. It would be far too unrealistic to bear a child now.

As the man hands me a salted pretzel to share with Jack, I think about all the other options. We could foster. We could adopt. It's not like we could never have a son or daughter – second daughter, in Jack's case. And a child doesn't need to be from your own womb for you to love it.

I turn, with a smile, to walk back to Jack, and I stop. He looks frozen, almost upset. I swallow and walk over. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing…" he says. He shakes his head, and seems to snap out of it as he smiles. "I was just remembering something." He looks down at the pretzel in my hand, and to change the conversation, he asks, "Is half of that for me?"

"Yes, of course," I say. I split it, and Jack's fingers softly brush mine as I hand him half.

"Thanks," he says.

We start walking toward the elephants again, and I'm about to ask again if he's okay when I feel his arm snake around my waist. I look over and see that small little smile of his, and I'm reassured that whatever memory was making him sad, doesn't have him in its grasp anymore. He's here in the present, with me.

* * *

"Hey, Tania," I greet. This time I'm here before her, both Jack and I are, and she walks up with her backpack.

She shoots Jack an untrusting glare. "Tania, remember that I told you I was shot?" I say.

Her attention is on me instantly, her face smooth and open. "Yeah?" she says, her voice tight.

"Well, the doctor recommended that I don't do anything that could reopen the wound until I'm ready for physical therapy."

Her nose wrinkles. "Therapy?" she says.

"Physical therapy," I correct. "It's different from _therapy_, therapy. It's about getting your muscles back into working condition."

"Oh."

"Anyway, Jack's agreed to help me teach you." Jack nods and smiles. "Is that okay?"

"I guess," she says.

"All right, then."

I feel a little more nervous than I did the first time. This time, I have an audience. Well, Jack's not exactly audience – he's more of a crash-test dummy, in this case, but still, he's witness. I start giving out instructions, showing her how to brace herself for a fight, how to stand, etc. "You want to avoid a physical confrontation as much as possible," I say, "but if you must fight, to protect yourself or someone else from bodily harm, this is how you do it. Now, what would you do if Jack was going to rush up to you and grab you from the front?" Jack would never just attack an enemy front-on – he'd sneak around and attack them from behind if he was weaponless – but that's beside the point.

"I dunno, punch him?" she says.

"How?"

She makes a fist, and raises it, and I step over. "Not like that," I say. "You'll break your fingers like that." I gently pry at her fingers, and she opens her hand to me. I trace around the bottom of her hand. "This is the heel of your hand. It's the strongest part of your hand, and if you have to hit someone, fold your fingers like this…and shove it into their nose. Do it hard enough, and you'll break their nose."

Tania's gaze shifts to Jack, and then back to me. "You want me to break his nose?" she says.

"Well, no. No more than I'd want you to break my nose," I say with a chuckle.

"Go ahead," Jack says. "Just try it. I'm a tough guy, I promise." We share a glance and a small smile. We both know exactly how tough he is.

She does a few hand-to-air practice throws, and I step in again to correct her. "Push with the full weight of your arm," I say, guiding her arm out straight. "If you do it halfway like you were, your hit won't have as much power, and won't hurt as much."

She nods, and faces Jack with a stubborn look in her eye. He approaches her, and her fist shoots out, just as I showed her, but her knuckles barely touch Jack's chin. "He's too _tall_," she says.

Oops. I hadn't thought of that. "Well, we can work on hands-on practice later," I say.

We go through another couple of moves, including very simple ways to get away from someone – like, poking them in the eye, etc. After about forty minutes, we call it a day. Tania goes off to her own apartment, and Jack and I walk up to ours.

* * *

Jack closes the door behind us. "You were great, but I think I'm going to be too big for this," he says.

"Well, if someone wants to hurt her or mug her one day, he's not necessarily going to be the same size as her," I say.

"I understand, but she won't get any better at defending herself unless she can reach the vital spots of the person she's practicing with."

I sigh. He's right. I rub my temples. I'm thirsty, tired and sorely in need – no, _want_, want want want – of a cigarette. "Okay," Jack says. "We don't need to figure it out now." He steps up to me and cups my cheeks. "You okay?"

"Sort of," I say. "Mostly." I take his hands in mine and pull them away from my face, kissing them before I let them go. "I just need a glass of water."

Jack follows me into the kitchen and kisses my neck as I pour one, and we go sit on the couch. After a few minutes of sitting down and half a glass of cool water, I feel much better.

And Jack definitely feels good. He kisses up my neck and covers my jaw with kisses, too. He starts to press his lips to mine when I shake my head and say, "Not here, Jack." I'm open to sex, but I'm not going to get aroused – not here.

"What's wrong with here?" he says, smiling seductively.

"Here" is a couch. And the memory of Vladimir taking me roughly on a couch, intensified by the recent nightmare, is the biggest turn-off I've ever had. "Let's just go to the bedroom," I say. "We do have that rather large bed."

"Renee…"

I kiss him as I start to stand up, taking his hands and tugging. "Come on," I urge, smiling.

"All right," Jack says, standing.

We kiss our way toward the bedroom, and the further away from that couch we go, the better I feel. Heat starts to pool in my belly as we fall onto the bed. This is where I love it. This is what's familiar, what's right. I push Jack onto his back, and kiss him fully, lazily, while we strip off our clothes.

* * *

Jack's finger draws circles on my shoulder as he says, "Not that that wasn't great, but, why not the couch?"

My breath catches. His skin is hot beneath my cheek and hand, and I start to rub his chest with my fingertips.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Jack says, "but if I don't know what's wrong, then I can't help fix it. …Renee?"

I lift my head and look up to meet his eyes, and then I lay it back down against his chest. "Vladimir took me on a couch."

God, I hate this. I can't even call it rape, because technically I consented to the intercourse. But that didn't make it any less rough, didn't make it any better, and it definitely did not mean there was any love between us. And that's what hurt the most – he was a man I hated.

I don't sleep around. I can count the number of men I've slept with on one hand. If I really care about the person and we're both attracted to each other, I'll sleep with him. To have sex with someone what was neither of those things…that hurts more than the rough, pleasure-less sex.

Jack's arm tightens around me. His chest rumbles as he murmurs, "I'm so sorry."

I swallow, and rub my face against his chest, which is layered with a hint of sweat. "It's not your fault. And anyway, it's in the past." Where it should stay. Where I need to make it stay.

"Hey." Jack's other hand sneaks over his belly and up to my chin, lifting it to look at him again. "It's okay to be upset about it. It's okay to hate it. I hate it, and I wasn't even the woman raped."

I snort. "I _hope_ you're not the woman," I say. I don't comment on his use of the word "rape." I suppose it's open to interpretation – whether or not the intercourse was actually consensual, if I didn't want to, and only agreed to keep my cover and go through with the mission.

"I think I just spent the last hour proving that I'm not a woman," Jack says, bucking his hips once.

Chuckling, I press a kiss to his chest. "That you did."

Jack "hmmphs" through his nose and lets go of my shoulder to stroke his hand through my hair. After a moment, he says, "Your hair's getting red again."

"Hmm. I'm letting it grow out into its natural color," I say in confirmation.

He kisses the top of my head. "It's nice," he says. "I like it. You're beautiful no matter what color your hair is, but that color never suited you as well as your natural red does."

I smile. "Yeah."

"Why'd you dye it?"

"Because it didn't suit me, and I didn't feel like me, so it seemed like something should change so that I didn't look like me."

"Does that mean you feel like yourself now?" he says.

I look up and meet his eyes. "It means that…whatever I did, whatever I went through…I'm starting to feel less lost and more found." I pull myself up so that our noses touch. "So, thanks for finding me," I whisper.

Jack's hands travel up my bare back. "Thanks for letting me find you," he replies in kind, and he pulls me an inch closer for a kiss.

* * *

Writer's Note: Thanks for your reviews. :) If something feels off to you, don't hesitate to drop a bit of constructive criticism on me. My inner editor has a physique like Jack Bauer, I can take it. xD Hope you liked this chapter. See you all in chapter 20!


	20. Chapter 20

"Jack, we should get going pretty soon, here," I say, glancing at the clock on the microwave.

"Hmm, yeah," he says. He puts down the paper and drains his coffee. "So, do you want the bedroom first, or do you want me to go first?"

"Jack, I think we're at the point where we can get dressed in the same room."

Jack smirks. "Not if we need to get somewhere."

My mind flashes back to the previous night. Mmm. "Okay, I see your point. Go get dressed and I'll finish off these dishes."

He kisses my lips. It's a chaste kiss, but he still pulls back and says, "Hmm…you taste like syrup," and kisses me again, but more deeply.

"Keep that up, and we _will_ be undressing in the same room," I warn, smiling.

Jack chuckles and drops a kiss on my brow. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

I pick up the dishes and take them to the counter. I put the pans in the sink to be washed by hand, and the dishes and spatulas and eggbeaters in the dishwasher. I'm halfway through washing the pans when Jack comes out.

"Men really do get ready in a matter of minutes," I mutter as I feel his arms wrap around me from behind.

"It's the one thing we're good at – let us be," he says, and we both chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah," I say, pulling his hands away. I turn and grin. "I need to go get changed, now. Since you men get ready in minutes, you can finish the dishes."

"Fair enough," he says, taking over my spot as I head down the hall.

Opening the closet doors, I sigh. What do you wear to the first family picnic? In L.A., shorts are an obvious choice. I grab my pair and hold them up to me. Faded blue with a slight tear along the bottom of the left leg. They'll do. I pull out my flowery brown blouse. I don't have many clothes with patterns, feminine or otherwise – I mostly have basic, solid colors. But a little bit of femininity never hurt anyone.

I change my gauze before I slip on a bra and the blouse. The blouse fits loosely around me, and if I twist my hips, it'll flutter around my waist in gentle cotton waves. I used to love doing that, before even that simple act seemed too joyous for the despicable likes of me. With a small smile, I look toward the door. No one's there. I twist my hips experimentally. When my blouse doesn't flutter like it used to, I frown and try again, with more vehemence. The blouse flutters, and I smile again, closing my eyes as I twist again.

Chuckling, I feel like I've reached a part of my past that got buried beneath the avalanche of my self-destructive behavior. I feel fresher and lighter and…more at peace than I've been in a while.

I pull on the shorts, reach for the hairbrush, and give my reddening hair a few quick strokes. It doesn't frame my face well, and I stick my tongue out at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Maybe I'll get it layered again… But there's nothing to do about it now. I grab a clip and twist my hair up, and, with one last twist and flutter, I go out the bedroom door.

* * *

Around eleven-fifteen, we pull up to the curb. I pay the taxi and we get out. I must look nervous, because Jack takes my hand and squeezes it. "Hey," he says softly, "Teri adores you, and I don't think Kim or Stephen would say a single negative thing about you. Stephen's family will like you, too."

Smiling, I squeeze back, and we head over to the cluster of tall, leafy trees. A large group of people is gathered beneath them, and one of those classic red-and-white checkered picnic blankets has been spread out. A young girl, Teri, sees us and squeals, taking off toward us like, well, a bullet. Kim protests and tries to call her back, until she realizes it's us and sighs, smiling.

"Grandpa Jack!" Teri tackles Jack at the knees, and he chuckles. I wonder for a minute why she calls him Grandpa Jack instead of simply Grandpa, and then I realize that Stephen's father would be Teri's grandpa also. I shake my head, feeling like a blonde instead of a returning-redhead.

"Hey there, Teri-Bear," Jack says. She lets go and he bends down to tap her nose with his index finger, then he squeezes it and pulls away, his thumb between his index and middle fingers. "I've got your nose!" he says.

"Grandpa, you do not!" she exclaims, feeling her face with her chubby little toddler fingers.

Jack opens his hand. "Oh, gee, I missed again!"

Kim comes up to us. "Hey Dad," she says. He stands and hugs her. "And Renee, hi," she adds. I'm just as surprised when she hugs me, too, as I was when she visited the apartment. "How're you feeling?" she asks.

"Great," I say honestly. "Dr. Shaw says I'm healing just fine."

"Renee!" Teri says. She squeezes between her mom and I, and hugs me at the knees, too.

Chuckling, I reach down and stroke her hair. "Hi, Teri," I say.

"That's good. That's really good," Kim says, working around the interruption with ease. She turns to her father. "Stephen's parents are here, and his brothers. Now, Daddy, they voted for Senator Keeler – _be nice_."

"Who, me?" Jack asks innocently. The senator-turned-President had been running against President Palmer for the presidency in 2008. I doubt Jack would be an ass to someone for their political views alone, but I understand how politics can cause rivalries and spats between close, immediate family members, let alone in-laws. And it's no secret that Palmer was Jack's favorite president as well as his close friend.

We join the rest of them at the picnic blanket, with Kim leading the way and Teri pulling both Jack and I by the hands with her giggling, determined little body. Two young men are sitting on the blanket, laughing at a graying man that looks frazzled. A third young man leans against a tree trunk, flanked by a smirking woman with spectacles, who pats the graying man on the back as though out of pity. To the standing young man's right is Stephen, who's shaking his head and hiding a grin behind the hand that's rubbing his temples.

"Anne McAllen, Jeff McAllen, this is my father, Jack Bauer," Kim introduces. "And this is Renee Walker."

"Hello," Anne says, her smile tight but her eyes honest. She shakes Jack's hand, and then mine. Her expression softens when she sees me, her muscles relaxing. Jack and I switch spouses and I notice the same thing with Anne's husband – cautious, strictly polite with Jack, but easy and nice with me.

It never occurred to me that Jack might be the one under the microscope. His reputation was shattered when he was brought up for trial; the American people don't know exactly what his horrible actions were, but they know he did them, thanks to Senator Mayer and his self-righteous goons. My actions were very secret. My firing from the FBI was very hush-hush, as my superiors blamed the extraneous experiences of the day and my unwholesome experience in Russia for my obvious "meltdown."

"Jack, Renee, these are my brother-in-laws, Tom…" The leaning man nods and gives a wave of his fingers. "Samuel…" Sitting man no. one nods. "And Harry." Sitting man no. two grins and nods.

Stephen's parents obviously had their reservations about Jack, but his brothers didn't. As the minutes tick, the brothers crowd around Jack, talking to him about everything and anything and nothing important at all. Whether it was due to a genuine liking of Jack, or whether the brothers simply liked doing something that pushed their parents' buttons, I'm glad to see them welcoming him. Jack puts down his box of desserts next to the coolers and baskets, and finds a comfortable corner with a tree for a backrest. Teri climbs into his lap, and then the laps of her uncles one-by-one, as the conversations with Jack continued.

Then the youngest, Harry, turns to me with a grin, and I suddenly feel like I'm right under the microscope with my boyfriend. The brothers latch onto me next. "FBI" is more recognizable and sounds cooler than "CTU," so they spent the better part of the hour before lunch questioning me about the organization. Did I carry a gun? Did I shoot one? How many criminals did I arrest?

But, finally, it's noon, and the coolers and baskets are opened. Sandwiches, chicken, watermelon, and all other assortments of chips, dips and fruits come out. The McAllen brothers abandon their FBI-information conquest for the more important conquest: food. I smile. College boys – no, scratch that – boys of _all_ ages do have their priorities.

Jack brings me a roast beef sandwich and a Sierra Mist, and plops down beside me on our corner of the blanket. "So? What did I tell ya?" he asks, grinning.

I don't know how he can take Anne and Jeff's attitudes so graciously, but he can and does. "They're nice," I murmur. Not nice enough to some of us…

Jack kisses my temple and unwraps his own sandwich. "I like his brothers," he comments.

"I do, too," I say, and we fall into silence as we watch the McAllen brothers eat and shove and laugh and joke.

My gaze shifts to Anne and Jeff, who sit between Kim and Stephen. Their only granddaughter lies in front of them, picking apart her peanut butter and jelly sandwich as she eats it, kicking her legs in the air.

Jeff McAllen groans as he stands. "I'm getting too old for this, my dear," he says to his wife. "Iced tea?"

"Yes, please," Anne says, smiling. She reaches for his hand and rubs her thumb over it lovingly before letting him go. "Thank you." Her head turns and she catches my gaze smiling.

I offer her a smile back. I'm torn between liking her for being so nice to me and despising her for giving Jack the cold shoulder. So far the McAllen parents haven't said anything out of line, but if they do, I vow to stand up for him in some way. After all, it's not right that Jack be dragged over the hot coals. I won't remind them that he's saved their rears more times than they can count, because I think that would embarrass him – it'd embarrass me – but I will do something.

But all this preparation may be for naught. The McAllens seem like a lovely couple and I'm sure they'll, even if grudgingly, come to like Jack. He's a very difficult person to dislike, I've found. Even when he was only a thick file with a bad rap to me, I found my opinion of him slipping in the direction of "grudging admiration." Meeting the man, sensing his strength and his integrity, only pushed him rather firmly in the column of people I like.

I feel Jack's hand lightly touch my forearm. "You okay?" he asks.

Even under the shade of the trees, I can clearly see his brilliant blue eyes, which at the moment, are fixed only on me. I smile and slide my hand up to intertwine my fingers with his. "Perfect," I whisper.

* * *

Jack promised shortcake, and shortcake we brought. I can behave myself for one picnic, after all. "We have strawberry, raspberry, blueberry, pineapple and grape," Jack says, opening the jumbo box with three of each.

The strawberry shortcakes are gone in instants, and I manage to snag one raspberry, the only favor I really, really like. Plastic wrap piles into a mountain in the center of the picnic blanket from all the sandwiches, and now from the shortcake.

All three strawberries went to one of the four McAllen brothers, and Jack nudged his blueberry around with his plastic fork. I smile and lean over to kiss the lobe of his ear before I whisper, "You can share some of my raspberry if you want."

Jack chuckles. "Thanks." I scoop out a bit of cake and fruit from my plastic bowl and lift the fork to his lips. His mouth closes around it, and as my skin starts to flush, I decide that I'm not allowed to do that in public anymore. So much for behaving myself!

In the end, there's one pineapple shortcake and two grape shortcakes left. The McAllen brothers pull out a football and con their adorable niece into playing some _very_ tame football (as they reassured Teri's parents and three glaring grandparents). Jack puts them into little brown paper bags left over from the sandwiches, one to a bag, and Anne and I throw away the trash.

Anne starts up a conversation about her book club, which I mostly nod politely throughout, and we squeeze the last bit of trash into the can. As I turn around, I hear one of the brothers – Harry, I think – shout, "Walker, head's up!"

I don't realize that the football is hurling toward me until it's practically on me. I reach up to grab it as it collides into my shoulder, and catch it against my body, but the impact causes pain to flare in my chest. I gasp.

"Renee? Are you all right, dear?" Anne says.

"I…"

"You're white as a sheet! Harry, you ought to be more careful!" she chides.

"Renee?" Jack calls. He drops whatever it is that he's holding and runs toward me. Everyone seems to stop and stare, and only Jack is in motion. He reaches my side and pries the football, which I had been clutching to in shock, away from me. He drops it and his large hands frame my face. "Honey, are you all right?"

"I think so," I say breathlessly, my chest throbbing. He starts to lift the hem of my blouse and I swat his hands away. "Jack!" I hiss, my cheeks pinking.

"Renee, we have to check your wound. That hit might've reopened it."

"Jack, you are not taking my shirt off and looking at it here," I say in a low voice.

Anne looks between us, bewildered. "What wound?"

Jack looks at her and says in his "this is a crisis zone, no nonsense," tone of voice, "A few weeks ago, Renee was shot."

"What?"

"What's going on, Dad?" Kim says. Slowly, the McAllen family has started to crowd around us.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry, Renee, I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"We thought you might want to play – thought you might like it!"

The voices rise chaotically. My eyes catch Jack's, and he looks at me with this commanding expression. "Either you let me look at it here, or we're going straight to the hospital," he says.

Jack has never been a controlling man – not in any kind of domestic setting, anyway. But I can tell that this time, he means business. I nod. "All right. But, not in front of everyone."

Stephen speaks up. "Our car has tinted windows," he says. He holds out the keys. "It's over in the parking lot, first row I think – right honey?" he adds, looking at Kim. She nods.

Jack takes the keys in a heartbeat. "Thanks," he says, and he guides me out of the crowd, his hand at the small of my back.

Once we're out of earshot, he says, "Okay, how much does it hurt?"

"Honestly? A lot more than it has been, but not as bad as it did the first week in the hospital," I say. "I don't think it's bleeding, Jack. It'd hurt a lot more if it was, and we'd be able to see the blood."

"I'm still looking."

Stubborn, stubborn Bauers. At least it means he cares. Jack presses the button to unlock the minivan, and opens the door to the backseat. I slide in. There's a carseat on the other side of the car, and I scoot into the middle so Jack can join me. He closes the door behind himself, and, with a grin, says, "Strip."

I chuckle and shake my head. I can always trust Jack to make a non-critical situation lighter. He helps me pull off the blouse, and I both hear and see his sigh of relief. I look down. Just like I thought, it isn't bleeding. "See?" I say, smiling. He reaches out to peel back the gauze. "What are you doing, Jack?"

"Checking to make sure it's not bleeding so lightly that it hasn't shown up yet," he answers.

The wound is puckered and angrily red, the redness extending farther past the bullet hole than it has in days. But it isn't bleeding, not even a little. "Good," he breathes. "Looks like you caught that ball just soon enough to weaken its impact." He leans forward and presses a kiss to my collarbone.

"Going to kiss and make it better?" I tease.

"I would if I didn't think touching it would cause you more pain than it's worth," he says, folding the gauze back over the wound. He takes my blouse and rolls it in his hands, so that the head hole and arm holes are obvious, and slips it over my head. It doesn't feel weird at all that he's dressing me, just…comfortable. I slip my arms through the arm holes, and wince a little as my wound protests the action.

"You ready?" he asks. I nod, and he presses his lips to mine in a sweet kiss. "Okay. Let's go."

* * *

Harry is the first person to meet us. "I'm really sorry, Renee," he says, brow furrowed. "I so _completely_ did not mean to hurt you."

"It's all right," I say, smiling despite the dull throb.

"How'd you get shot?" Tom asks. "I thought you weren't FBI anymore."

"Someone probably dragged her into trouble," Anne McAllen says, shooting Jack a quick and dirty look before putting her spectacles back on and looking back down at her book.

Jack says nothing in his defense. Well, shit. Either I let him be blamed for this or I admit to saving Teri's life and risk being hailed as some bloody hero. I can't let him be blamed, so I'll have to take my chances. "Nobody dragged me into _anything_," I say firmly, looking straight at Anne. She looks up, a little surprised by my vehemence. A darker part of me is satisfied; she didn't expect the little kitten to have claws, did she? I cool my expression and smile tightly. "…least of all Jack. I simply didn't get out of the way fast enough."

Anne starts to look abashed, and I didn't even have to reveal the true circumstances of my injury. I start to celebrate my little victory a little too early, though, because Jeff asks, "Exactly why was someone shooting at you to begin with?" in a tone that suggests that I'm now being judged with the same scrutiny they used on Jack.

Stephen says, "Don't, Dad. Just don't."

"Why not? If she's involved in something dangerous, we should know about it!"

Kim and Jack start to speak at once. They stop and look at each other, and both start talking again. Kim sighs and wipes a hand over her face in surrender – Jack is still the king of the stubborn Bauers, I see. He says, "If Renee is involved in anything dangerous, it's being involved with me."

Whoa, shit. I did not expect that. Doesn't he realize the dozens of ways to interpret that – one of them being that he regrets being with me because it's not safe? He notices my expression and immediately backs down. "What I mean is," he says in a softer tone, "It's my fault she was out there to begin with." His voice drops to a whisper and he leans in a little closer. "Not that I don't adore you for sticking with me anyway."

I smile and feel blindly for his hand. I find it, and weave my fingers with his. I hear Samuel mutter to Tom conspiratorially, "There's one woman you won't steal away," and my smile deepens into a grin. I hadn't even realized that one of the McAllen brothers had an eye for me, but Samuel's right – nothing is going to drag me away from this man.

And then I hear Kim speak up, sounding annoyed. "The only reason she was shot is because she was saving my daughter."

Nothing is going to drag me away from him, but I just might be swept away with the wave of gratitude that just might be coming. (Not that my actions were superiorly heroic, just that…people tend to be extremely grateful to you for saving one of their family, even if it was simply the right thing to do.)

Of course, the family demands the whole story, and we tell it. I try to edit out Jack's hurtful words, because the McAllen parents don't need another reason to dislike him, but he admits quietly, "I drove her away. That's why she was out there."

"That's also why I was able to find Teri. If Jack hadn't said the things he did, we might never have found her as quickly as we did." I'd been originally going to say, "before they did something awful to her," but there was no reason to horrify everyone.

"If all this is true," Anne says, "then why would you risk your life for someone that hurt you so badly?"

"Teri has never hurt me," I say, "and it was her I risked anything for. But yes, I would risk my life for Jack, and I would because I…" I feel myself falter. There are a lot of people here. I don't think even Kim has seen Jack and I do more than peck each other on the cheek, and I'm going to make a declaration of love? I feel my cheeks redden, and I look to Jack. He meets my gaze steadily, openly. "…I care about him, more than I've ever cared for anyone," I finish.

This seems to end the discussion. The McAllen parents decide it's time to bow out, hugging and kissing their children and grandchild, and giving Jack and I polite, if not stiff, nods. The brothers decide to continue their game, although I don't think any one of them will throw a football within ten feet of me ever again. Teri curls up in her mother's lap as Kim reads aloud _The Bernstein Bears Go on a Picnic_, the same book, I recall, that I read to her when she was sick the day of her kidnapping.

Stephen comes up to me to apologize. "I didn't tell them about your wound because, well, you always seemed like a very private person," he says. "I didn't think you'd want them to know about it, or about saving Teri. Not that I'm not completely grateful to you for saving her."

"I know," I say. "And thanks. I appreciate the effort."

"Too bad my rotten brothers had to foil my master scheme," he says, laughing. "Who told them they could be all nice and inclusive anyway?"

I laugh, too. "I know! Kids today, right?"

Stephen decides to join his brothers in their game – "I'll make sure they're not so nice this time," he says, winking – and I join Jack by the picnic blanket. He's sitting up against the tree trunk again, just watching everyone. I curl up against him and lay my head on his shoulder. I've attached myself to his right, so that my right hangs away. My wound can just sulk in its burning misery. So there.

Jack turns and kisses the top of my head. "You okay?" he murmurs. Kim doesn't waver in her reading of the children's book, but I can feel her eyes on us – she's probably read that book so many times she's got it memorized, so I'm not surprised she can divide her attention so easily. Or am I just getting paranoid?

"Yeah," I say. And I suppose it's truthful. My wound's a little sore, but Jack and I survived our first meeting with Kim's in-laws that could have been quite scathing. I chuckle. Jack's parents aren't even alive and yet I managed to start a confrontation with a set of in-laws anyway.

"Are you glad we came?"

"Yes, Mr. We-Don't-Have-To-Come-If-You-Don't-Want-To," I say.

Jack rests his chin on my head. "Yeah, yeah," he says, with a smile in his voice.

* * *

It's nearly three when Jack and I pile into a cab to go home. The last few hours went especially well without Stephen's parents – that sounds mean, but it's true. When the McAllen brothers were done with their game, Harry came over and plopped himself down next to me, and started chatting. He talked about his girlfriend, who is also a redhead, apparently, and about their plans to get an apartment together in the fall, just in time for their sophomore year.

"Just don't tell my parents," he'd said, wincing dramatically.

I laughed and leaned in conspiratorially. "I don't think they like me very much to listen to anything I say," I said.

"Oh, trust me, they like you. You haven't been filleted alive, so they like you."

Which didn't necessarily make me feel better about the earlier confrontation. So as we prepared to leave, I apologized to Kim and Stephen for the scene. I don't think I'd apologize to Anne or Jeff, given their attitude towards Jack, but I do feel bad for interrupting Kim's fun, familial picnic. Kim looked me in the eye and said, "Renee, the only way you'd be on my bad side for this afternoon is if you _hadn't_ said something in my father's defense."

"Renee," Jack says as he opens the door to our apartment, "I don't think we'll be on the McAllens' Christmas card list this year."

I chuckle. "Oh, darn. And they seemed like such lovely people, too."

"They really did, actually," Jack says. "They were great with Teri, and nice to Kim and their sons. Unfortunately, my reputation preceded me."

"Hey." I close the door behind us. I walk up to him and hold his head, my fingers just grazing his ears. "Their loss," I whisper.

* * *

Writer's Note: In response to a couple of points brought up in reviews, the age of actors/actresses can often differ from the age of their characters by a few to several years. I believe Renee Walker's real age is indicated in 24 wiki somewhere, but regardless, I've tweaked it to fit my story (age 38). While she herself is not "ancient," 38 is considered an older, riskier age at which to have a baby, and that's why she made that comment. The timeline isn't perfect, because I'm more concerned with how the relationships play out. I do appreciate being told that Tania seems flat. That's something I'll try to improve upon. Jack's not a tour guide, hehe, but it makes sense that he'd want to share his world with Renee, at least the good parts of L.A. Brownie points if anyone knows why Jack seemed frozen when Renee brought him the pretzel in ch. 19. Thanks for your reviews, tips and concerns, folks. :)


	21. Chapter 21

Writer's Note: Kudos to everyone that got the reference (which was probably most everyone - I am talking about 24 fans, here XD). Hope you all like ch. 21.

* * *

"How's your wound?" Jack asks.

I roll my shoulder experimentally. "Better," I say. "I don't think I'll need any painkillers."

"We got lucky. A hit could've easily opened it." He stirs the ground beef in the frying pan and turns off the heat, taking the pan to the sink to be drained of fat.

Leaning against the counter, I nod. "Yeah. Luckily, my yearlong absence from the FBI didn't totally ruin my reflexes."

Jack puts the pan back on the stove and reaches for the taco seasoning. "That, or Stephen's brother throws like a girl." I smack his arm playfully. "See if you can find tomatoes and cheese," he says. "Maybe we should've stopped at the grocery…"

I dig through the fridge. "We do have one tomato – a little worse for wear, but it should be fine."

"Cheese?"

I pull out the tomato and a package of shredded cheese. "We have cheese," I confirm. "And we even have olives."

"You don't like olives."

"But you do." I put the olives next to the cheese.

Jack starts adding cheese into the pan. "But if we put olives in here, you'll have to try to pick them out, and that'd be messy and annoying," he says.

"Wait, you mix everything in the pan before you put it on a burrito?" He nods. "Huh. I never thought of doing it like that. We always added the fillings directly onto the burrito."

"'We'?"

"That's what I grew up doing," I say. "My family made burritos that way."

"Hmm." Jack looks down at his frying pan. "I got into the habit of getting it ready in the pan to avoid extra dishes. But…that's when I was living alone."

When you're alone, you don't have to worry about whether someone does or doesn't like what you prepare. "I'll just dice up the tomato," I murmur, changing the subject. I get out a cutting board and a small knife. Neither one of us really likes to be reminded of what our lives were like alone…well, at least I don't.

Jack cuts up a small plate of olives as I chop away at the tomato. Suddenly, a strong memory floods me: Warmth. It was insanely hot the day my dad taught me to cut up a tomato. It was a record temperature of 103 degrees and I was at the tender age of seven – too young, he told me, to carve a turkey or chicken, but old enough to learn how to cut up tomatoes. We had the fans going, but our house's air conditioning was shot until a repairman could swing by, nearly two weeks after the tomato-cutting lesson.

It seems like a strange and menial thing to teach someone, how to chop a tomato, but that's the point of growing, I suppose – to learn things, the seemingly-mindless tasks as well as the life-altering things.

"Renee? …Renee?"

I stir from my memory. Jack stands at my shoulder, touching it with a hint of concern. "Yes?" I say, looking down at my hands. The black-handled knife is in my curled right hand, and the tomato lies chopped across the cutting board.

"Are you done with that?" Jack asks. It sounds more like, "Are you okay?"

I smile, put down the knife, and pass the cutting board to him. "Yep," I say. "I'll get the plates."

* * *

Halfway through dinner, Jack's cell rings. He reaches behind himself and snatches it off the counter, looks at the caller I.D., and answers the call. "Yes, honey?" he says. Kim. "No, it's fine. What is it? …You don't have to thank me for that. It's fine. …Honey, national news covered the trials. I'm bound to run into a few people that don't like me." Jack's gaze flickers to mine, and then back down at his plate. "Don't worry about me, Kim. I'm a big boy." His face breaks into this big grin. "Yeah, I love you, too."

Jack ends the call and puts the phone aside. "Sorry. I guess I should have taken the call away from the table."

Does he really think I'd find something that trivial to be rude? "Well, I'll let _this_ habit pass. Just don't forget to put down the toilet seat, okay?" I say sarcastically. My comment earns me an eye-roll. Jack Bauer rolls his eyes – who knew?

He gathers the burrito back in his hands and points it at me. "I'm watching you," he says, in lieu of an actual comeback, it seems. He ends the statement with a caveman-like bite from the wrapped meal.

In my driest voice I say, "I'm quivering."

* * *

I keep hitting these moments that just seem so…domestic. So normal that it's almost creepy. So normal that I want to peek around the corner with a glock in my hand, checking for the terrorists that might be controlling the strange holographic fantasy.

This is one of them.

Jack's hands travel down the front of his shirt, unbuttoning little plastic buttons with nimble fingers. I'm pulling my shirt over my head, wincing slightly, but not too much. He smiles and steps over to undo my bra for me, and then returns to undressing himself.

We're getting ready for bed together – not for sex, but just to sleep.

How peculiar that just a month or so ago, we were getting ready for top-notch governmental operations together. We seem to get ready in the same comfortable silence, although this time, instead of strapping on gun holsters and bulletproof vests and slipping in comm.. units, we're just shedding our day clothes and putting on sleepwear.

A line from the old rhyme seeps in as we face each other. _Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap_… The thought makes me grin, which causes Jack to tilt his head in the typical Curious Bauer style. "What is it?" he asks with a huff.

"Nothing," I say, slipping into bed.

He joins me, kissing me deeply. I sigh as our lips part and turn over. He spoons himself against my back.

A thought dawns on me. "Jack?"

"Hmm?" He nuzzles my nape.

"I just realized something."

"What's that?"

"I was worried, annoyed, stressed and pissed off several times today, and I never once wished for a smoke. I never even thought about it."

"Hmm…" Jack presses his lips to my neck, and I can feel his smile on them. "That's great, honey."

I blink slowly as he reaches over me to turn off the light. And then I smile in the darkness. Not only did I not want a cigarette once all day, I look deep inside myself, and…I don't want one now.

"Goodnight, Jack."

"Goodnight, Renee."

* * *

"I'm back."

I look up from Jack's copy of _The Idiot_, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. You'd think a period of living hell in Russia would turn me off to anything Russian, but I can't help it. Dostoyevsky might be long-winded but he's ingeniously long-winded. I was surprised that Jack has it, but after digging through one of the last unpacked boxes, it became apparent that Jack has a wide variety of classics, including _The Jungle_, _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, _Dracula_, _Zicci_, _Three Sisters_, and even _Pride and Prejudice_, though I have my doubts as to whether or not he's actually read that one.

"You have a letter," he says.

I do a double take of the envelope he holds out to me. I expected bills and such, but a letter? "Seriously?" I say, taking it from him and flipping it over several times. It's not a bill. It's a hand-addressed, honest-to-god letter. My eyes drift to the upper left-hand corner.

Janice.

"You enjoying that?" he asks, nodding at the book that's closed around my fingers.

I don't take my eyes off the envelope, as though by doing so, it would vanish and spirit away its contents, too. "Um…yeah. Sorry I looked through your stuff…"

I vaguely register him kissing the top of my head and saying, "Don't worry about it. I already told you that you could go through any of the boxes."

I file that bit of information away for later, and rip open the envelope. When I pull out the folded sheet, a 4x6 picture falls out onto my lap. I pick it up and flip it over. It's a picture of Janice and I on one of our weekends away. We'd made a big deal of it, renting a cabin by a lake the next state over. We joked that, with our jobs, it was a miracle we got that far, that not even god could get us to Hawaii or somewhere. A teenage boy took the picture of us against a backdrop of forest, in a little gas station along the road to that cabin. We were smiling like crazy, arms around each others' shoulders.

A reminder of what we were like pre-Wilson. Pre-Jack, even. Although Jack's obviously the more desirable of the two, it's not hard to see that I let him come between Janice and I. …I let a lot of things come between us, though. Shaking my head, I unfold the paper.

"_Renee,_

_You are really screwed up sometimes, you know that? I was getting along just fine hating your guts, and then you miraculously show up in L.A. after over a year and remind me how much I miss you. _

_It can't come as a surprise to you that I'm still bitter about what happened, but you should know… I want us to be friends again. Or at least, acquaintances that talk more than once a year. But we were more than that once… We were really, really good friends, weren't we? I'm not sure I expect to reach that level of friendship again, but I'd like to at least try and see where things go. _

_My address is on the envelope, and my number is 202-791-3155. My email address is the same – . _

_Hope to talk to you soon._

_No smoking!_

_Janice"_

I chuckle, but I barely register the tears at the corners of my eyes until Jack wipes them away with his thumbs. He doesn't say anything…just sort of…watches. Probably waiting for the first sure sign that I'll break down.

I'm sure my smile is watery, but it's a smile nonetheless. "Janice wants to be friends again," I say. "She's given me her contact information."

"That's great," Jack says, looking genuinely enthusiastic. "Do you want to call her?"

"I don't trust my voice," I say, choking on the last word as I start laughing.

Jack holds me as I laugh and cry at once. He kisses my temple before saying, "Do you want to use my laptop to email her?"

Email. I can type. My fingers aren't the problem here – just the rest of me, apparently. But I can type. "Please," I say.

Jack pulls me up from the couch and leads me to the kitchen. He leaves, and moments later, he carries out a laptop and a wireless mouse. He sets it in front of me and pushes the power button. As the machine starts to boot, he leans over and kisses the corner of my mouth. "I'm going to leave you to it," he murmurs.

"Thank you."

He nods and walks over to the couch, picking up the thick novel I left behind. He settles down on the couch, and after a few minutes, I start to hear pages flip every minute or so. With Jack reading his book and the laptop fully started, I open an internet browser and enter my hotmail password. It's been so long since I used it…I'm almost surprised I haven't forgotten it. It's a little depressing, seeing the empty inbox, but I have a feeling it might fill up pretty quickly, even if with messages from only one person.

I open up the send new email page and start typing: "Dear Janice…"


	22. Chapter 22

Writer's Note: Wow it's been forever since I updated! Sorry about that, folks. :) I have no excuse for the week before last, but last week I was gone for 6 days on a wonderful road trip to New Mexico to visit family. We also went to Arizona, and saw the Grand Canyon. (If you're fall-o-phobic like me, I would still recommend visiting. It's an amazing sight, even if it IS, in the end, just another giant ditch to fall into. x3 My mom laughed at me when I wouldn't even go seven feet near the edge. Ha-ha-ha, no. The sign said, "Falls are actually quite rare, but each fall is fatal," - talk about stating the obvious!) Anyway, this is the longest chapter so far, to make up for it. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

I flip through the newspaper and scan the help wanted sections. A glass of orange juice sits a few inches from my right hand, and a plate of toast sits at my left hand. Jack's fixing himself some homemade pancakes. He offered me some repeatedly, but I'm not a big breakfast eater. I like a couple little healthy things to get me going, but that's all. The biggest meal for me is either lunch or dinner.

"Anything good going on?" he says.

I glance back at the headline. "They're naming an elementary school after some big-time cancer scientist – David Gale."

"Did he find the cure for cancer?"

I skim the article. "He's trying." Him and hundreds of scientists all over the globe.

"Hmm."

I suppose Jack Bauer could cure cancer just by threatening it, but I don't say this aloud. Instead, I glance down at the paper. Suddenly, an ad stands out to me. "Taylor Defenses: Martial arts professional wanted for instruction position. Exp. only. Call 706 – 593 – 6261."

Wow. I know at least six different classes of defenses like the back of my hand. That job would be perfect for me!

Except... I've had a few dry runs in teaching Tania, and none of them were great. Maybe I just don't have the "teaching gene."

But, still…a job at a self-defense studio would be a far cry from bad, and a lot more dignified than working in a fast food joint or clothing department. I do have a reasonably exceptional college education, and if you don't count Russia and the things I did the day I met Jack, all of which is off the record or extremely classified, I have a fairly spotless service record. How do I know I won't get it if I don't try?

I carefully tear out a long strip to get the defense teaching ad, which includes half of a hair stylist wanted ad, and a puppies-for-sale ad. Jack must have heard the ripping noise, because he looks over. "Find something interesting?"

"Maybe." Well, it's definitely interesting, but probable? We'll save that for later determination.

"What is it?"

Suddenly, I feel very protective of this slip of paper. It holds the key to a bit of dignified independence, which I haven't had since I left the FBI. And I'm not sure if I want to share that hope – or the embarrassment and disappointment if I don't get the job.

Oh, now I feel foolish. "It's a want ad from a self-defense studio."

Jack walks over and I hand him the slip. His eyes travel as he skims it. "Well…" he says hesitantly.

"Yes?"

He gives the slip back to me and says, "I have no doubt you could do it," he says, "but I'm worried about you doing it right _now_."

And by the time I start physical therapy a month or so from now, the position could be filled. "I see," I say quietly.

Jack sits next to me. "Hey," he says. "I didn't say you shouldn't apply. You never know what could happen. But at the same time, don't rush into something you might not be ready for. I can support us both comfortably."

I was afraid he'd say something like that. "I don't want to be dead weight, Jack," I say.

"You are _not_ dead weight."

His kind words and kind eyes touch me, but I still have to get my point across "I need to be useful. I need to be…" I search for the word. "…needed."

"I need you," Jack says, covering my hand with his.

I smile. "I need you, too." And then I add, "But I still need to be useful. I don't want a job like we used to have, and I don't want to flip hamburgers, but I do feel like I need some sort of job. And this?" I give the tiny piece of paper in my hand a wave. "This would be perfect. I wouldn't have the fate of the country in my hands, but I'd still be putting some of my skill to use."

Jack presses his lips together in a tighter smile. I can sense his frustration, and can kind of understand it. Here I am, someone he cares about, wanting to be more active than I should be. He doesn't want to start an argument or control my life, and at the same time, doesn't want me to do this. Before he can say anything, I lean over and kiss him. "I haven't decided anything yet," I say. "I'll sleep on it."

His smile loosens and seems more natural. "That's a good idea."

I kiss him again on the lips, and then on the cheek. He wraps his arms around me. "Your pancakes will burn."

He holds me tighter. "Let them."

* * *

The mesh bag of whites bounces against my left thigh as I carry it downstairs to the complex's laundromat. Jack had already carried down a load of jeans and towels and a load of sheets – insisting that he be allowed to carry the heavy stuff. I'm pretty sure I could have handled a laundry bag of jeans and towels, since it's not that much heavier than a bag of cotton shirts and underwear, but sometimes there's no budging Jack.

I flip open the door to the washing machine, and I'm still burning. Not because Jack likes to be helpful, but because Tania didn't show up for our practice today. Okay, fair enough, I was going to tell her we needed to put practices on hold for now, but really…

I put the last of our laundry in the machine and toss in the recommended amount of soap and bleach. Once the machine's started, I lean against it for a moment, and close my eyes. The dryer behind me buzzes once, and then continues to work. (I'd set it for "extra dry" since towels and jeans tend to end up damp otherwise.)

I hear the door open, and I open my eyes. It's Tania. She slinks in, in a strange combination of cautiousness and carelessness, as if she could care less about my opinion but wants to be careful of my reaction anyway. I school my face. "Hi," I say simply.

Tania's expression sharpens. "Hi."

"You weren't at the basketball courts this afternoon. I missed you."

Tania sees right through this. "No you didn't," she says.

"You're right. I'm annoyed as hell."

"So? If I don't want to be at the basketball courts in time for your lousy lessons, I don't have to."

Ah, hell. I sigh. "No, you don't," I say. "You're well within your rights to not go to the lessons, and they weren't going very well, were they?"

She seems surprised by this. "No," she says. "I couldn't practice on anyone. It feels weird kicking at air. It's not working."

"I was actually going to suggest we put them off for a while," I say. "Tania…I'm not your mother. I'm not your parent. I'm not your guardian. I can't tell you what to do and I won't even try. But if you'll hear me, I will give you one piece of advice: don't leave people hanging like that. No one likes to be…" I search for the word. What do kids call it these days? "Ditched."

Tania snorts. "Ditched?"

"Ditched. Avoided. Left waiting."

She stares at me for a moment. "So, you're not going to yell at me or anything."

"Why would I do that?" I say. Well, it's official. Kids even have a sixth sense that I'm a monster, despite the fact that I'm trying to be nice.

Tania shrugs and says, "I ditched you. You're not going to scream or yell or throw anything?"

"Of course not!" I have to say, I'm really starting to feel offended here. What did I do or say to make her think I was going to go ballistic on her?

"Well, that's what people do when I'm a bitch to them."

I'm not her mother, I am not going to comment on her language. I am not going to comment on her language. "Is that what your uncle does?" I say instead.

Guilt flashes across her face. "No," she says. "He's one of the okay ones." She looks up and down me once more. I've been reduced to a bug under a microscope. "So, are you for real, or are you just doing this…I dunno, to make yourself look good?"

"Doing what?"

"Being nice to the troubled little twelve-year-old bitch."

"Don't call yourself that," I say softly. So much for not commenting on her language. But wow, twelve? She's small for her age.

"Why not?" She shrugs again. "It's what I am, until I decide otherwise. And you didn't answer my question."

"I'm not being nice to you because it'd make me look good, Tania. I'm being nice to you because I can see a very unhappy girl, and I think maybe I can help her. You see, I was a bitch too. I did some horrible things, and I shoved everyone I cared about out of my life, being a bitch to seal the deal. Eventually, only a couple cared if I ever let them back in. I don't want that to happen to you."

"What if that's what I want?" But her eyes lower to the floor. "Besides, you're too late. It already has."

I step closer and put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She stiffens, and looks back up at me. "Nothing but death is irreversible," I say, remembering Janice's letter.

Slowly, the muscles beneath my hand relax. "So, you want to help," she says.

I nod. "Yes, I do."

She's quiet for a moment. "My dad hurt me a lot," she says finally.

She's probably heard "I'm sorry" about that a million times. "I don't know what it's like to have an abusive father," I say. "Mine died when I was a little younger than you."

Tania stares at me for a long moment. I've seen this look before – from teachers, from parents, from bosses, from various politicians. Right now, Tania is judging the trustworthiness of my reply. But soon her face smoothes. "Thank you," she says, with the smallest hint of a smile.

"For what?"

"Not pitying me."

* * *

By the time I get back to the apartment, I'm grinning ear to ear. Tania actually opened up to me. That feels good.

She got the wrong of it, though, at the beginning. So, so wrong. If there's any selfish motive behind wanting to help her, it's that it makes me feel good, not that it makes me _look_ good. I'd given up on impressing anyone – including myself – long ago.

Since then, I've gained Jack, and I'm starting to get Janice back, but it never occurred to me to try to impress either of them. They're both wonderful that way – they don't need to be "wowed." For some reason, they both seem to like me for simply who I am – only God knows what that reason is, though.

"I don't think I've ever seen someone enjoy laundry so much," Jack comments. He's wiping down the mantle with a rag, a can of Pledge in his other hand. Now there's a sight: Jack Bauer…dusting. Although, I don't know why I expected any different. His apartment in New York was spotless, despite being untidy from packing.

"Well, I don't hate it," I say. "I don't love it, either. It's just one of those mindless necessities." He nods. With the invention of color catchers, you don't even need to separate colors, really. "But I did see Tania."

"You did?" he says. He looks annoyed. "Why did she skip out on you?"

"Apparently it was a test, and I think I passed."

He puts down the rag and turns. The subtleties of his expression indicate confusion, if I've gotten any better at reading him. "How so?"

"I didn't throw an abusive fit," I say, anger slipping into my voice. Now that I know her father abused her, it's easy enough to put the pieces together. It's very likely that I'm right when I say that her mother died, and after her father got abusive, someone stepped in and gave Tania to her uncle.

"She expected to you…"

I nod. "Her father abused her." If my voice were any more venomous, every living thing within ten feet would be dead, including the live fern Jack bought a couple days ago.

Jack says nothing, but his expression darkens, and his lips press together in a thin line. I doubt he was abused as a child, but his father is hardly a shining example of parenthood. I mean, hell, Phillip Bauer tried to kill Jack on several occasions. My outrage doubles – one part's for Tania, and one's for Jack.

"My father would roll in his grave if he could see the way other so-called fathers act," I say.

"My father wouldn't care," he says quietly.

I look into his eyes, and I feel my anger deflate. Not because it isn't something worth being angry over, but because anger has to take second place to this. I step forward and slide my arms around his middle, pressing my temple against the base of his neck. Soon, he slowly slides his arms around me in turn, high around my shoulders, resting his chin on the top of my head. I don't know if I need to be held most, or if he does. I don't know if he needs to hold me, or vice-versa. Maybe all of the above.

Whichever combination is needed, we're covered by this one simple hug.

* * *

It's not too late – around eight p.m. Jack does the dishes because I did the laundry and folded it, which doesn't make sense to me because while I did that, he vacuumed and dusted the apartment, but he squarely blocked the narrow corner to the dishwasher and started piling in the plates. I gave in and went to the table, where Jack's laptop is sitting. "Mind if I check my email?" I ask.

"No, go right ahead."

The computer finally loads and I click through to Hotmail. I almost didn't dare to hope there'd be a reply from Janice, even though she'd _said_ she wanted to be friends again, but there it is.

"_Hey, Renee_," it says. "_Work sucks less than it did a while ago. The new bosses that came in to replace you and Larry finally got their heads out of their asses and are starting to actually _work_ with us, instead of giving us blind orders that we don't understand. They're nothing compared to Larry, or to how you were, but there is such a thing as asking too much, I guess._"

Larry. A lump forms in my throat. I haven't thought of him in…god, months, but before then, it seemed like I couldn't stop thinking about him. Him or Jack. It was like they were two distant deities, looking over me in disappointment. Larry was the god of goodness and perfection, severely saddened by my decline to evil. Jack was the god of strength and endurance, disgusted by my weakness.

It wasn't until I actually met Jack again that I remembered how human he is. And Larry…well, I'm not sure I'll ever change my mind about him, the deity metaphor aside. If he can see me from death, he's disappointed in me. Maybe not so much now, but for what I did then.

The thing was, he loved me. It was obvious to me and Janice and everyone else in the universe. At first it embarrassed me – my boss, in love with me? I'd be called the office slut. But as I got to know him better, I only felt sorry that I didn't love him back. And then, I walked into that courtroom and heard Jack's voice, and I stopped. He was respectful and honest, but charged and braced for every barb and insult. He handled Senator Mayers magnificently.

And then I walked up, presented my subpoena, turned around and saw him. He stood, gathered his jacket and his briefcase, and walked out the door. At FBI Headquarters, he refused, at first, to believe that Tony was real, but he accepted the evidence I gave him. And from there on out, he was right about everything. Well, mostly everything.

And I was all too willing to follow him. I'd tried to be in charge, to keep him on a leash, but the truth was, things went better when we worked together and followed each other. Not splendidly – I've already noted that nothing about our partnership was remotely flawless – but better. I look up from the computer screen, which had grown fuzzy before unfocused eyes, and look at Jack. He stands with his back to me, scrubbing the pots too large to go into the crowded dishwasher.

That was what Larry hated. He never liked Jack to begin with, but he hated that I rapidly slid into step with Jack. He'd never known me to do any of the things I did that day; he hadn't been privy to my classified file from my cover with the Russians.

Not for the first time, I'm grateful that he didn't see the worst thing I did that day. Janice was right. I dishonored his death with what I did, and it'd been all for nothing.

My eyes fill with tears, but I close them and will the tears away before Jack can notice. I open them and continue reading.

"_Things on the home front are okay, too. Great, actually. Rob and I've being trying to get pregnant since the wedding, and my latest test was positive! We've got an appointment tomorrow. I'm trying not to get too excited, because you know how these things can be, false positives and all…but I can't help it. I'm thrilled! Can you believe it, Renee? I'm going to have a baby!"_

Janice with a baby. I smile. Now there's something. I hope her test wasn't a false positive. She'd make a fantastic mother.

"_I'm looking forward to having a kid. I know I'm 35 and probably too old to do this, but I love kids. I hope it's a boy. Nothing would annoy me more than to prove my mom right by having a little girl just like me, although I'm sure I'd love a daughter just as much as a son. Still, I can practically hear her cackling in her grave at the prospect._"

I snort a laugh, and see Jack's head turn my way out of the corner of my eye. I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Gold just once, but she and Janice were practically twins. They're both stubborn, incredibly set in their ways, and they both have a heart of gold. (Appropriate, no?) I walked away from that party with a couple of stories about "Jan-Jan the Terrible," too.

"_Anyway, have you quit smoking yet? I will go down there to knock sense into you if I have to. Well, I would if I had any vacation days left, but I'll just have to settle for threatening to come down there. By the way, does Jack know yet?_

_"Speaking of Jack, how is he? I don't know anything about the treatment he underwent, but it can't be worse than what I saw him suffer through. Part of me thought he deserved it, then. He was a sadistic torturer. But, well…I remembered the lives he saved, and I've sort of given up trying to figure out how I feel about him. But you seem to really care about him for some reason, so I'm trying to be civil about it, okay? Plus, I'm still counting on him to keep that light back in your life._

_Anyway, I have to go squeal in an undignified manner about my possible pregnancy, again. Be…be yourself, Renee._

_Janice_"

I smile, and click "reply."

"_Dear Janice – A baby! Wow, congratulations. If anyone deserves to be a parent, it's you. For the record, I'm hoping it's a girl. Just to annoy the hell out of you. (I'm joking, Jan.)_"

I hesitate. I don't really want to touch the subject of the FBI, so I glaze over that paragraph and type in my response to her questions. "_No, I'm not smoking. At least, it's been several days and I'm trying. Having Jack helps. And Jack's fine. He's a little protective since I got shot, but that's all. We both seem to have tempers as short as a no. 2 pencil, so we're trying. It's not too hard to get along, because for some reason, he cares about me as much as I care about him… I'm going to politely nod as I ignore your comments about him deserving the pain that biochemical gave him._

_Go squeal – you deserve to. And your mom's not just cackling at the prospect – she's cackling maniacally as she claps her hands giddily, Jan-Jan the Terrible._

_Take care, pregnant lady._

_Renee_"

I send the email and shut down the laptop. Jack comes over, wiping his hands on a towel. "Any messages?" he asks.

"Yes, one from Janice." I give him a half-grin, and stand up and face him. "She's pregnant."

"Oh. Good for her." He tries to sound enthusiastic, but his face falls quickly.

Frowning, I say, "What's wrong, Jack?"

"Nothing. It's just… You once told me you want kids. Is that still true?" He looks right into my eyes, expression tense.

"Jack…" I search for the right words. "I want what I have," I say finally. "I want you, I want us, I want this. And let's face it, I'm a little too old to be pregnant."

"But Janice is only a few years younger than you," he says. "And women are having children into their forties and older now."

My brows furrow. "That's not healthy or natural. And as far as Janice goes, what she does is her own business, and she _is_ younger than me, but even she has a higher risk of a complicated pregnancy."

"Complicated doesn't necessarily mean bad," Jack says. "They're prepared for all kinds of things. Besides, the risk to Kim was far greater for that experimental surgery. You'd be fine, if you wanted to have a baby."

Before I know it, my head's tilting, my head's shaking and I'm stepping back. "What are you saying exactly, Jack? That I'm a coward for not wanting to undergo a difficult pregnancy?"

Shock flashes across his face. "No! God… Honey, I just don't want you to give up on something you want. I want to make you happy." He hesitates, but before I can speak he says, "_Would_ a baby make you happy?"

I step forward so we're barely inches apart. "A baby would make me happy," I say softly. He starts to close the distance, as though to seduce me into a whirl of passion to get started on getting pregnant right now, but I place my hand flat against his chest, just beneath his collarbone and push him back. At his confused look, I say, "But I don't want a baby to make me happy. I want _you_ to."

He smiles and huffs. "And do I?"

I rub my hands over his chest, sweep them over his shoulders, down his arms, and close them over his hands. "You make me _very_ happy," I say.

As he leans in to kiss me, I wonder what Janice would say if I told her exactly how much I love this complex man, and then I realize that I don't even care. Because at this moment, I'm so entirely convinced that I can have my cake and eat it, too.


	23. Chapter 23

Writer's Note: Hmmm, I'm tempted to explain what I'm doing with Tania in this writer's note, but I'm going to hold off for just a bit, Nobody, to see if I can write my explanation into the story. I hope I can make things clearer through the story, but if I don't in the next few chapters, I'll do a writer's-note explanation. – Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I'm glad to see people are enjoying my story, and I'm glad to see that people are pointing out confusing/strange parts. Your voices, as always, help me shape the story.

* * *

We're on the couch, watching some T.V. show I've never heard of. The screen pans out on the anguished face of Angie Harmon before cutting to an Allstate commercial. The deep soothing tone of the Allstate representative rolls out from the speakers, but I'm not really listening. I turn to Jack. "I'm going to apply for the position," I say. "I don't know what to expect, but…I want to find out."

"I see," Jack says. Something flickers on his expression, and when he smiles, it's a worried smile. "Whatever happens, I hope you'll be careful. You don't start physical therapy for another three weeks."

"I know." I run my fingers through my hair. "I'm getting something to drink. Do you want anything?"

"Sure. Beer? Thanks."

In the kitchen, I pop the top off a bottle of beer and pour myself a glass of water. "It's too soon to start being worried about me," I say. "I might not get the job."

"Anyone would be a fool not to want your experience," he says. "Thanks." He takes a long drink of the beer and sighs.

"There are plenty of experienced people. You, for example."

But Jack shakes his head. "Nope. I'm not trying to be modest," he says, seeing my dubious look. "I'll admit it, I'm damned good at what I do. I did my job quickly and efficiently, did whatever I needed to do to save lives. But I'm not practiced in the types of martial arts you are."

"I suppose." Jack's instinct for survival is twice as useful as the skills themselves…

He kisses my cheek. "I know."

* * *

_I'm sitting in my office. I'm wearing my blue suit and black heels, and in front of me is Larry's file. Across it is stamped the bold letters that spell "DECEASED." When I look up, I see him standing in front of my desk, his hands in his pockets._

_Disbelief jolts me. Larry, isn't he supposed to be dead? It can't be, but – it is! Elated, I throw the file to the side. I'm too overjoyed to be angry at its inaccuracy, I run around the desk to see him. "Larry, you wouldn't believe it! That file said you were dead!"_

_His expression turns sad. "But I am dead, Renee, and so are you."_

"_What?" _

_Larry points to the other end of the office, and I see the abandoned construction site. Jack's back is to me, and he's shoveling._

"_See? He killed you."_

"_No, Larry, you've got it all wrong. Jack only pretended to kill me! I'm fine, see?" I twirl for him._

"_No, Renee, you don't understand. He didn't kill your body, but he killed everything good about you." Larry shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Renee. For that, he deserves to die." And before I can utter a word, he pulls out a glock and shoots Jack through the heart._

"_No!" I scream. Within seconds, I'm kneeling at Jack's side as he quietly bleeds to death, unconcerned. I gather the heavy man into my arms, sobbing. "How could you?" I shout at Larry. "Everything I became that day – it wasn't his fault. I was already ruined. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine!"_

"_Okay," Larry says. And he levels the gun at my head, and pulls the trigger._

"NO!"

Suddenly, I'm aware of Jack's hands, brushing my face, my shoulders, rubbing me. "…just a dream, okay? Wake up, honey. Renee? Wake up."

It's the middle of summer in Los Angeles and somehow I'm still shivering in cold sweat.

"Are you okay?" Jack says.

No. No, definitely not. Right? Right. God. "Just…hold me, please."

Without hesitation, Jack pulls my shivery, sweaty body into his arms. His voice is coarse and rumbling, as he whispers sweet reassurances that turn into nonsensical murmurings as we both start to fall asleep.

* * *

Morning is quiet and somewhat resentful at me, as though my nightmare and near-hysterics had disturbed some cosmic balance. I hold the coffee mug in both hands, still feeling frazzled. Not only was the nightmare emotionally awful, but…it was also so _wrong_. Everything I remember about Larry tells me that he would never be so vindictive, let alone murderous.

"I don't understand," I say. Jack looks up from his book. "Why did I dream about Larry being so…" I shake my head, closing my eyes.

I feel Jack's hand lightly on my arm. "I don't know what you mean. You haven't told me what the nightmare was about."

But I can't tell Jack about this nightmare. To do so would…I don't know. I told him about every nightmare I've had since he walked back into my life, but I'm reluctant to share this one. Maybe it's because he died in it. Maybe it's because Larry was in it, and the thought of mentioning a man I wanted to love to the man I do love is just too strange for me to comprehend. …God, one nightmare and I'm nuts. Or maybe I was nuts long before this.

But anything I say right now will feel wrong. "I can't tell you" seems like a trite excuse. "I don't want to tell you" seems like a harsh excuse. I just don't have a good reason not to tell him, except that I feel uncomfortable about the idea – which, I suppose is a good enough reason on its own, despite the fact that I have no basis for feeling that way.

But I guess my silence has spoken words enough, because he leans over and brushes his lips to my cheek. My eyes meet his, and he smiles. "You're going to go to Taylor Defenses later, right?" I nod. That was my plan. "Do you want some company?"

"No, I think I'll be fine." If I need my boyfriend to hold my hand to a job interview, then I don't deserve the job. Particularly a self-defense instructor's position.

Jack nods. "I think I'll call Kim, then, see if she's doing anything for lunch." And just like that, the nightmare topic is dropped.

After months of jeans and sweats, my navy blue suit feels foreign on my body. The short, flat-heeled pumps feel awkward, too – sneakers really are a godsend. How did I dress like this for practically all of my professional life? But, as I remember it, professional suits were strange and uncomfortable when I first started wearing them, too.

* * *

Taylor Defenses is a square little building on East 3rd Street, about fifteen minutes away from the apartment via taxi. It's got a couple of small windows – no giant, cliché windows so all passersby could see the diligent, skillful students. That's nice. People train best when they're not being watched, in my experience.

But there are windows, no matter how small, and eventually someone is going to wonder why a strange suited lady is standing outside their martial arts gym for so long. So I will myself to relax, and open the door and walk in.

When you think of "gym," you think of sweat. And sweat makes you think of grim, which makes you think of dirt. But this place is neither sweaty, grimy, nor dirty. It's spotless, precisely clean. There appear to be two large rooms, not defined by walls or doors, with mats covering the bulk of the floor. There's a front desk just to the right, but it's empty. I look around again.

In the room furthest from the door, there's about a dozen women sitting cross-legged in front of someone. That someone looked up when I entered, and said something to the them before jogging up to greet me.

"Hi," the lady says. She holds out a hand. "I'm Alicia Taylor. How can I help you?"

"I'm Renee Walker. I'm here in response to your help-wanted ad." Her demeanor shifts slightly, her eyes narrowing ever so subtly, and we shake hands. Immediately, I like this woman. Her hand is ramrod straight as she shakes mine – not floppy and submissive, and not domineering, yanking my hand around so hers is on top. Just, firm and equal. There's a lot you can tell from a handshake.

"Well, this session's almost over. The ladies usually get wiped out by the end of a session, so I started planning five-minute breaks into the session slots, just to cool off and chat. If you can hang around for ten minutes, I'll be ready for you then."

"Sounds good," I say.

"Have a seat." She gestures to the plastic chairs lined against the front wall.

"Thank you." I sit down, a little nervously, and pull my jacket across my legs. It's the end of May and not too cold out, but I just need something for my hands to play with while I talk with this woman. I haven't had to interview for a job in over…many years. I was with the FBI for most of my professional life. I never even had a job in high school or college – I spent all my time studying, taking care of the house, and daydreaming about joining the FBI. When I got to college it was pretty much the same thing.

Before I know it, the women are filing out, some chatting, some giving me curious looks. Alicia Taylor waves, and says, "You have a good day, ladies!" She closes the glass door and hangs an "out to lunch" sign beneath the bar. "So, you're here about the job," she says.

"Yes, ma'am," I say.

"Come with me," she says.

I stand and follow her past the mats into a small office in the back, which appears to be the only actual, walled room in the building, except for the bathroom right across from it. It's cluttered, with papers in piles everywhere, and a corkboard on the wall, where dozens of wallet-sized pictures are pinned. "I can easily handle the morning classes," she says, "but I need an extra pair of hands to take on the busy afternoons so I can get some paperwork done. That means you'll be teaching one adult class and two children's classes."

She sits down behind the desk and gestures to the visitor's seat. Inhaling deeply, I sit as asked. "Now," she says, not harshly, "what makes you qualified to teach my kids?"

"I know karate, judo, tae kwon do, aikido, and kung fu. My strengths are in judo and aikido. I'm mostly adequate in kung fu but it requires more upper-body strength than I have."

She seems to consider this. "What was your previous employment?"

"I worked for a private security firm."

"That doesn't sound like something that involves unarmed self-defense," she says.

"It doesn't. It didn't work out," I say.

"Were you fired or did you quit?"

I hesitate, gripping the jacket tighter. "Technically, I was fired. But I think I wanted to be. I was in a…very bad place."

"And you're out of that place now?" Alicia Taylor says, her lashes fluttering once over dark hazel eyes.

"I won't lie," I say, feeling my knuckles go white, "I'm not perfectly okay. But I'm a lot better. I got help and I'm sorting through everything that made me…" Everything that made me try to kill myself. I won't mention that, though, not until she gets to know me. Or the fact that the help I sought was not professional, but the man that became my boyfriend.

Considering this, Alicia Taylor leans back, studying me. "Okay. Can you demonstrate what you know?"

The faces of Dr. Shaw and Jack float in my mind's eye, with expressions of annoyed disappointment. "No – not exactly," I say, hopes sinking. Well, there's the final nail in this…not great interview. "I was…injured several weeks ago. My doctor warned against sparring until I'm ready for physical therapy."

She is definitely suspicious now. "Injured…_how_?"

Falling back into monosyllables, I say, "I was shot," in a voice I'm sad to say was a little high-pitched.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Well, that sounds like a story I need to hear, but later." She checks her watch. "I have about twenty minutes until my next class, so I need to grab some lunch. Here's my situation, Ms. …"

"Walker."

"Ms. Walker. I need to hire the most qualified person that's ready to start the soonest. As you can see, I'm kind of swamped." She gestures at her overflowing desk. "But here's my business card. Email me your resume. A week or so before you're ready to start your physical therapy, give me a call, and if I haven't filled in the position by then, we can set up an interview and demonstration."

"All right," I say. "Thank you, Ms. Taylor."

We stand, and shake hands. "Have a good day," she says politely.

"Thank you, you too," I say, smiling tightly and turning for the door.

"Oh, and Ms. Walker?"

I stop and turn around. "Yes?"

"Relax. I don't bite."


	24. Chapter 24

When I get back, the apartment is empty. I exhale, and hang my coat over a chair. That faux interview wasn't too bad. The facilities were clean and Ms. Taylor, as she'd said, didn't bite. Still, the position will probably be filled in three weeks' time. It's disappointing, but…

I pull the business card from the jacket pocket.

"Taylor Defenses

The best offense is a good defense!"

The title and slogan were followed by an address and a series of contact information. I place it on the table and go to the fridge for a drink. Next to the six-pack of beer is a six-pack of diet soda. My nose wrinkles. Since I doubt Jack drinks diet, it means he got it for me. My science classes from high school and college come back to taunt me, reminding me that diet soda is far worse than regular soda in many ways, although by now, I've forgotten what they are.

Still, I'm thirsty, and Jack was trying to be nice. I grab a can, unhook it from the plastic ring, and open it to take a sip. Diet Pepsi slides into my mouth, crackling as it goes, with its dull, dull taste. The stuff doesn't taste any different from how it did in ninth grade.

_Beedle beedle beep, beedle beedle beep_. I walk over and grab the phone from the wall cradle. "Hello?"

"_Renee, this is Jack_," he says, as though I wouldn't have recognized his voice immediately.

"Hi," I say, a smile creeping on my lips.

"How did it go?"

"All right. She wasn't thrilled when I told her about my work history following my termination with the FBI, but she told me to email her my resume."

"_That's great,_" he says.

"Hmm. So, what's up? Are you still with Kim?" I ask.

"_No, she had to go back to work a few minutes ago. Listen, she and I were talking. How does dinner at Olive Garden with Kim and the family sound?_"

"Sounds great, Jack," I say. I glance at the microwave clock. It's almost one. "Are you coming back before then or should I meet you all there?"

"_I'm on my way back right now. ETA ten minutes_."

With a small laugh, I say, "All right. I'll see you then."

"_Love you_," he says.

"I love you too, Jack."

The call disconnects with a click, and I smile to myself, tapping my lips with the top of the phone. I reach to place it back in its charger when it begins to ring again. My head tilts slightly as I regard it with furrowed brows. What…who? I press "talk" and put the receiver back to my ear. "Hello?"

There's a hesitant breath, and then a feminine voice says, "_Is Jack there?_"

"No, I'm sorry. Do –"

But before I can finish, she cuts me off. "_No, _I'm_ sorry. I must have the wrong number_." And just like that, she hangs up.

The dial tone rings in my ear long after I put the phone down. For a moment, I consider hitting "redial" and telling her that there is, indeed, a Jack living here, but then I shake my head, deciding against it. She probably knows very well if she dialed a wrong number or not. Maybe her Jack isn't living with a woman.

I hang the phone in its cradle, leave my soda on the counter, and take my coat down the hall to hang up in the closet.

* * *

I'm comfortable in a pair of Jack's sweats and my black tank top when Jack comes in the door. He smiles when he sees me. "Maybe we should eat in tonight," he says, looking over me, his eyes half-lidded.

My cheeks and chest start to flush. After all these weeks, he can still embarrass and turn me on all at once. But, really, this side of Jack is still a shock to me at times. I suspected he'd be a killer in bed when I first met him, but I never expected him to be so openly seductive. He'd been at the height of professionalism for practically the whole day.

"Hmm, no Jack. Your daughter is expecting us tonight."

He kisses my lips gently. "You're right. Still…" He steps closer, putting his hands on my hips and inhaling deeply to smell my hair.

"I do believe we have several hours before it's even remotely dinnertime," I say, slipping my hands up beneath his shirt.

"This is true," Jack agrees. "In fact… If we just happened to get a little…_dirty_…"

"Then we have a shower that comfortably accommodates two…"

As he pushes me backwards down the hall, with that glint in his eye and that smile on his lips, I have a feeling that there was something I was going to tell him, but I can't remember it.

Jack's cell begins to vibrate in his pocket. If I moved an inch closer, I would be able to feel it, and something else, too. Jack reaches between us and digs it out, and without even looking at it, he holds the power button until the screen goes blank, and then he tosses it behind him. It misses the couch by a yard, and I giggle – _chuckle_, dammit.

Then I remember. "Oh, Jack, someone –"

His mouth covers mine, and I'm all too happy to let the subject drop.

* * *

His tattoos are fascinating me right now. The one on his wrist, a series of twists in the shape of a diamond, I can barely decipher. Is it a snake? A serpent? A ribbon? I slide my hand up the back of his arm until our fingers touch, and I press a kiss to the inked skin.

Jack's breath is hot in my ear. I expect him to say something, but he remains quiet, letting me memorize his arm, from the faded edges of the tattoo to the dark center, the way a vein bulged one of the coils…

I've never had a tattoo. Once or twice when I was a teenager, I would look at pictures of tattoos, thinking about how cool it would be to have a butterfly or a series of cascading flowers over my hip. But I've never gotten one. At this point of my life, I'm not sure I would get one. There isn't a design of…anything, anyone…significant enough for me to permanently inject it onto my skin with needles. Except maybe Jack, but a miniature Jack Bauer tattooed onto my hip sounds gaudy and creepy.

Finally, I lower our arms across my stomach, sighing. "Does it bother you?" Jack asks.

"What, the tattoo?"

"Yeah."

"No. I sighed because I'm tired. You wore me out."

His chest rumbles when he chuckles. "I did, huh?"

"You know very well that you did," I say. I rub my thumb over his hand. "What time is it?"

"Almost three." He kisses my temple.

"I'm thirsty. And hungry." Jack's arm falls from my torso as I sit up. "Do you want anything?"

"Sure. Whatever you're having," he says.

I get up and grab his shirt from the floor. It easily dwarfs me, covering my waist and most of my bottom. I look over to see a grin on his face, and it makes me grin back. I lean over and kiss him, my hand hovering over his cheek, fingers touching skin lightly. "I'll be right back."

* * *

At dinner, I order the grilled chicken and Jack orders a plate of lasagna – at which, of course, Stephen mocks his horror. "You'd consume a plate of lasagna I didn't make?" he says with a dramatic gasp. It's entirely for his young daughter's benefit, and Teri giggles between them.

Eyeing his granddaughter for a moment, Jack hides a grin and says solemnly, "You're right. I have no idea what I was thinking."

Teri reaches from her booster seat and pats Jack's arm. "We still love you, grandpa," she says, and we adults start to shake with laughter. I can't speak for Jack, Kim or Stephen, but _I'm_ trying very hard not to roar with laughter, which would disturb everyone else in the restaurant.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Jack says, ruffling her hair.

"So, Renee," Kim says, "Dad tells me you had an interview today. How did it go?"

"Oh…all right," I say, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

"Do you think you'll get the job?" Stephen asks before taking a sip of his iced tea.

"Well, that depends on how many qualified martial artists are in L.A.," I say, smiling.

"Kim, how did it go with the intern this afternoon?" Jack cuts in, deftly changing the subject.

"Oh." Kim nods and rolls her eyes slightly. "As well as can be expected. If she had a little bit of confidence in herself it wouldn't be so bad, but she stutters and trips over every word – and then over trash cans." Sympathetic nods go around the table.

"Look at what I did!" Teri says, holding up paper placemat they give little kids. She'd colored the dancing elephant pink, and the smiling bear blue.

"That's very pretty, sweetheart," Jack says.

"What's the elephant's name?" Stephen asks.

The little girl thinks about it for a minute, and then declares, "Daphne!"

Something sparks in Jack's eyes. "Hey Kim," he says, "didn't you used to call that stuffed dolphin Daphne?"

Kim frowns, and then her jaw drops. "Oh my god! How did you remember that?" she says, laughing. "I must have been four or five at most!"

"Six," Jack says, nodding.

"Mommy had a dolphin?" Teri says, eyes wide.

"Mommy had a toy dolphin," Kim says. "Kind of like your stuffed animal, Bear."

"Ooooh." The toddler seems baffled by the idea that a grownup had toys, but she picks up her crayons and keeps drawing, unconcerned.

* * *

Kim and Stephen give Jack and I a ride back to the apartment. We get out at the curb and Kim rolls down the passenger window. "Night, Dad," she says. "Night, Renee."

Jack leans in to kiss her cheek. "Goodnight, Kim."

We exchange more goodnights and Jack and I go through the lobby. A night guard nods at us before looking back down at his screen.

"That was a nice night," Jack says.

"It was."

We're halfway up the stairs when I remember the strange phone call. "Oh! Jack. Someone called earlier."

"Yeah?"

"It was very weird. They asked for you, but when I said you weren't in, they interrupted me and said they must have the wrong number."

Jack stops, leaning against the rail as he twists to look at me. "They looked for me, but they said they must have the wrong number when you said I wasn't in?"

"Yes. Well, they didn't specify 'Bauer,' but they asked for Jack," I say.

"Hmm. If they said they had the wrong number, then they ought to know that better than us," he says.

He said it, but he looks doubtful. "Do you know who it was?" I ask.

"No. No, I don't." He smiles and starts walking again. I continue with him. "You're right, though. That is weird."

* * *

Jack's on his side, facing the window, fast asleep. His nose whistles softly as he breathes out, and I, wide awake, myself, listen to the even sound. The events of the day swarm in my mind, from the impromptu interview to the strange phone call to the pleasant dinner. I honestly don't know what to make of half of what's happened today.

The interview…well, Ms. Taylor seemed… "nice" isn't the word I'm looking for, although she wasn't mean either. "Capable," is more like it. Intelligent. I have a feeling she's going to be one of those "tough, but fair" types, and I can live with that. I respect that.

And dinner _was_ nice. But…I don't feel comfortable discussing my unemployment status. Not with Jack, and especially not with anyone else. It's not Kim or Stephen, themselves – I know they're not judging me. It just so happens that they fall under the list of people I don't know as well as Jack. The next time we see them, I'd like to be employed, although that's not likely in this job market. I suppose I could find an office job, but I'm hoping that'll be a last resort.

As for that phone call… People generally don't dwell on wrong numbers, so I don't know why I am. The voice wasn't anyone I recognized, and she didn't act especially strange or awful – it could very well be that she realized that this wasn't the right Jack.

I need to stop worrying about things. And I should probably stop silently talking to myself at one in the morning, too.

I roll over and scoot closer to Jack, pressing my lips to the back of his neck. His breathing falters only once, with a snort, and then falls back into the steady rhythm I'd been memorizing earlier. I close my eyes, and try to go to sleep, too.


	25. Chapter 25

Writer's Note: Hmm-hmm-hmm. :) Hello all. Thank you for your reviews! Hope this chapter is up to par.

* * *

Friday afternoon. A last-minute phone call has Jack and I bustling around the apartment to make it toddler-friendly. Kim and her husband had planned a weekend away, but their babysitter quit last-minute on them. Their options were between Stephen's parents and us, once they concluded that none of the McAllen brothers could take her. I don't know how or why they chose us, but Jack is thrilled

"When's Kim going to drop her off?" I ask, walking into the second bedroom.

"In a few hours, after she and Stephen get home from work." Jack grabs a box of miscellaneous books, cards and other items, and puts it up on the top shelf of the closet.

"Aren't we going a little overboard with the cleanup?" I say. Dusting and vacuuming was one thing, but Jack's determined to put every box, bag and wire safely out-of-reach. "How much trouble can she get into?" Jack's half-haunted look makes me chuckle. "Okay, dumb question. Cleaning supplies in the closet or under the bathroom sink?"

"The closet," he says. "She can't reach that. And do me a favor – the kitchen drawers? Make sure all sharp objects are in the top drawer."

I put the rags and cleaners on the top shelf in the small hall closet, right above the towels and bedsheets. Then I head into the kitchen, and it takes me about five minutes to be certain that all knives, scissors, barbeque forks – why do we even have a barbeque fork? – etc. are in the topmost drawer. If Teri wants to play with cooking utensils, she'll have to make do with plastic spatulas.

* * *

Teri sits on the couch, hugging her bear as she watches Saturday morning cartoons. Her adoring grandfather stands across the kitchen from me, pouring her a little plastic bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.

"Orange juice, Jack?"

"Sure, thanks. Oh, could you pass me the milk?" I hand him the carton. "Thanks. Are you ready for breakfast, sweetheart?" he calls to Teri.

"But Jerry hasn't stopped Tom yet!" she says.

"You can watch Tom and Jerry after breakfast," Jack says firmly.

"Okaaaay," she whines. She walks into the kitchen, her bare little feet slapping on the hardwood as she goes, her stuffed animal tucked under her arm. "But only if Bear can have breakfast, too!"

"Bear is hibernating, angel. Bears don't eat cheerios when they're hibernating," I say, trying to save Jack from having to pour the toy a bowl of cheerios, too.

Teri's nose wrinkles. "Bear isn't hibernating!" she says.

"Sure he is," Jack says, lifting her into the booster seat. (Kim had armed us with a wide array of things when she dropped Teri off last night, including toys, clothes, blankets, a booster seat, books...). Jack winks at her. "Trust me."

"Okay," she says again, reluctantly picking up her Barney spoon.

So far, having Teri over for the weekend is an absolute joy. It was a little sudden, but that's okay with me, and I know it's more than okay with Jack. His granddaughter has him completely, entirely, totally wrapped around her little finger. I think he'd do backflips to babysit her if he had to.

"Can we go to the beach, Grandpa?" Teri asks suddenly, spooning some cheerios into her mouth.

Jack's lips hover over the glass of orange juice I'd handed him, and he lowers it. "Not this time, Teri. We don't have a swimsuit for you here." And Kim had not packed any beach-going items for her young daughter.

"Why don't we go to the park instead?" I suggest. "Isn't there a playground there?" I ask Jack.

"There is," Jack says. "Well, how about it, squirt? Want to go to the playground later?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay. The playground it is."

* * *

"Wheeeeee! Push me higher, Grandpa!"

"_Higher_?" Jack says, grinning. "If I push you any higher, you'll sprout wings and fly away."

Teri giggles. "I will not!"

I smile at the exchange, watching them from one of the "grownup swings," as Teri had dubbed them. The toddler herself was in one of the cup-shaped baby swings. She had begged Jack to be allowed on one of the older swings like me, but he dropped her into one of the baby swings, saying that she wasn't big enough for one of the older swings until she could no longer fit in baby ones. Any protesting the child made had lasted mere seconds, because she started giggling and laughing in joy the minute Jack started to push her.

Jack keeps at the swing, pushing harder and faster upon request, and slowing down when it seemed like she was getting tired of it. I check my watch. They've been at the swings for about ten minutes. I guess that answers the question of which playground toy is Teri's favorite. She went on the slide a few times and the monkey bars once – with Jack's assistance.

As if on cue, Teri starts to wriggle in the seat. "I'm tired of swinging, Grandpa," she says.

"Okay." He pulls on the chains supporting the chair to bring the swing to a stop. "Stop wriggling, cutie, so I can pick you up!" he says.

Teri starts running the minute her little sneakers hit the ground, her hair flying loose behind her. She goes directly to the sandbox a few yards away, where a little boy sits with a pail and shovel. After talking for a moment, Teri climbs in and plops down beside him. She's going to get her dress dirty, but I guess that's the price of fun that a toddler is all too willing to pay.

Jack widens his stance and crosses his arms, a thoughtful smile on his lips. His eyes travel over the playground, scanning the distance cautiously before returning to his granddaughter and her new playmate.

The boy hands little Teri a purple shovel, and she helps him fill his pail, which they proceed to flip over. The sand needs to be wet to keep any kind of shape, and it's not, so it slips into an indefinable little mound. It doesn't seem to bother either child, though, because they laugh and start to chatter.

"They're amazing, aren't they?" I say, nodding at the children.

Jack steps behind me and puts a hand around my shoulder. "Yeah," he says. "They really are."

* * *

Jack gets Teri settled in her booster seat for dinner, and I scoop a fist-sized portion of macaroni and cheese onto a plastic plate. "Where's mommy and daddy?" Teri asks, as though suddenly realizing that an entire day without her parents is weird.

"Your mommy and daddy are on a mini vacation," Jack says, putting a spoon and glass of milk down at the girl's placemat.

"Where?"

"In a hotel near the beach."

I put the macaroni down in front of her as she asks, "Why?"

"Because mommies and daddies need special time away sometimes," I say.

"Why?"

"Because they work very hard every day," Jack says, filling his own plate at the counter.

"Why?"

"To earn money so you have clothes and food to eat and toys to play with."

"Oooh."

We smile at each other, each of us at opposite ends of the table, with Teri on the side between us, easily within reach. "Grandpa?" Teri says.

He puts his fork down before he can take a bite. "Yes, Teri?" he says.

"When I'm a grownup, will I work hard every day and have a baby too?"

This seems to take off the impatient edge in Jack's voice. He smiles. "Maybe, honey. Maybe."

* * *

Jack lets Teri watch one movie before bedtime. She chooses _The Little Mermaid_, one of the movies Jack had purchased long ago so she would have something to watch when he had her at his apartment in New York.

He starts to pile up the dishes. I stop him with a kiss. "Go watch a movie with your granddaughter, Jack," I murmur. "I'll clean up tonight."

He hesitates before his lips relax into one of his subtle smiles. "Thanks," he says. He puts the stack in my hands and kisses my cheek before going into the living room. I carry the dishes to the sink, smiling myself when I hear him ask, "Is there room for me?" – which is followed by an enthusiastic yes on Teri's part.

Between putting clean dishes away and finishing up the dirty ones, I make it into the living room right around the time Ariel out-swims the shark. Teri's sitting next to the right armrest, and Jack sits right beside her, hugging her close with one arm. I sit to the left of him, happily receiving a quick kiss to the cheek.

Teri also notices my entrance. She looks over and starts to squirm. "I wanna sit next to Renee, too!" she says.

Jack and I exchange a look, and he shrugs. "Of course you can sit next to me, angel," I say. She crawls over Jack's lap. He presses back into the couch to avoid her feet, one of which came very close to kicking him in a very sensitive spot. I cover my mouth and bite back a chuckle. He sends me a glare before smiling tenderly at Teri, who of course had no idea what she almost did.

Jack scoots over to give her room, and she settles in between us, smiling happily. Then a moment later, her interest in the movie is renewed, and Jack and I are consciously forgotten in favor of the talking seagull, crab, and guppy.

* * *

Jack takes Teri into the bathroom and helps her get ready for bed while I make up the couch for her with the spare sheets, blankets, and Teri's special Princess Jasmine pillow. I feel kind of bad that we don't have a bed for her, and wonder if the spare room should be turned into another bedroom instead of a workroom. Jack comes out carrying the little girl in her nightgown. I smile and pull back the covers, and he lays her down with an exaggerated groan. He tucks her in and kisses her goodnight, and we head into our bedroom to tuck ourselves in.

Of course, having a toddler in the apartment means no sex. Which would only be a problem, I think, if Jack weren't such a great snuggler. I get into bed, clothed in a sleep tee and shorts, and curl into him. His arm wraps around me almost immediately.

"I love having Teri here," he says quietly.

I look up, and he has the most serene expression on his face. "She's a joy to have," I agree. "Although, I'll never understand her obsession with pots and pans." Pots and pans which she had proceeded to spread out all over the kitchen floor, just before we started to make dinner. Jack had given her a couple of minutes to bang on them with the palms of her tiny hands, and then picked them all up and put them away so neither of us would trip as we moved about. He then pacified the pouty girl by getting out the plastic toy drum her mom packed and setting her up in a corner by the table to play.

"There's kids for you," he said, chuckling. "Give them a hundred toys and they still want to play with the pans and wooden spoons. It's cute."

"In the 'what an adorable little angel' kind of way, or in the, 'great, you're cute, but now I have to hand-wash six pans I didn't use for cooking' kind of way?"

"Yes," he says dryly. "Kim used to do the same thing. It annoyed her mother so much. Every time she pulled out the pots and pans, Teri would take them and put them in the sink, scolding her. Kim kept doing it, though, until one time, Teri got so fed up, that she plopped herself down on the ground, grabbed one of the plastic cooking spoons, and banged on the closest upturned pots right along with her!"

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," I quip. "It's a good philosophy." Unless the "them" is a terrorist or other classification of bad guy. In that case, the philosophy should be, "there is no 'if' when innocent lives are on the line – if the beating doesn't work, there are other forms of torture to make them talk.'"

"I wanted so badly to have a video camera just then," he says, smiling nostalgically. "Teri Bauer having a mental breakdown? It was funny."

"How did Kim react?"

"She was shocked at first, but then she started shrieking in laughter and starting banging on the pots again, but harder. At that point, I was laughing so hard I had tears running down my cheeks."

I smile, rubbing my face slightly against his chest in a nod. His sleep shirt is a plain white tee, and it's already warm. The blood pulsing in my ear combines with the pulsing of his heart, and I know I won't have a prayer of falling asleep until both of us are more rested. And that's okay with me.

We're silent for a moment. I start to wonder if the story of his late wife made things awkward when he presses a kiss to the top of my head. "I love you," he says.

My smile returns, and I slide my arm more tightly around him. "I love you too, Jack," I say.

* * *

Writer's Note: Things are going awfully well for our favorite couple... I wonder when something bad is going to happen. I better get a baseball bat to beat Murphy away with... I mean, what control do _I_ have over the story? I only write it. ;) (Let me have my bad jokes. It's one of the few things I'm truly talented at. XD)


	26. Chapter 26

Writer's Note: I liked both Kate Warner and Audrey Raines. Not so much as love interests for Jack, but as characters in their own right I liked them. I'm neither confirming nor denying anyone's suspicions about where this story is going, though. *innocent smile*

* * *

Kim and Stephen pick up their daughter Sunday night, just after dinner. "Mommy! Daddy! Did you miss me?" Teri says, running up to them.

"Mmm, yes we did!" Kim says hugging her closely.

"Thanks for taking her, Jack," Stephen says.

"It was my pleasure." Jack glances at me, and then adds, "Our pleasure." I smile and nod in agreement.

"Did you have a good time with Grandpa and Renee, sweetie?" Kim asks.

"Uh-huh," Teri says. "We went to the park and watched a movie and had ice cream!

"Sounds like fun!"

They take their leave shortly, after we exchange pleasantries and hugs. Jack locks the deadbolt behind them. "What do you think about a movie?" he says. "We can wa…" He stifles back a sudden yawn. "Sorry," he says, blinking bewilderedly. "I guess she kind of rode me down."

"Jack Bauer, who can fight criminals and terrorists for twenty-four hours straight without food, water or rest without giving into exhaustion, admits to being exhausted by a four-year-old?" I say, chuckling.

"That little girl must be taking a dose of jet fuel when I'm not looking. And yes," he says, smirking, "I am admitting to being tired out. Why, is that going to be a…problem?"

"No," I say. "I'm exhausted, too."

We laugh softly together, and then he stretches. "Let's forget the movie and go to bed," he suggests.

"I could go for that idea," I say.

He wraps an arm around me and we walk down the hall to the bedroom, out-of-step, yet in a seemingly perfect rhythm.

* * *

"_Come here, Renee. …Come _here_!"_

_Glass shatters – the glass, I think – and Vladimir glowers. Despair rises in me as I realize that he's going to threaten to call off the deal in a minute, and that I'm going to have to do what he wants. I'm going to have to let him rape me._

_I start forward, but before I can take more than a couple of steps, Vladimir bursts in a dry explosion, an explosion in which bloody parts and bits of flesh and bone and blood should have gone flying, but didn't. He was just gone, vanished…_

_And in walked Jack, in jeans and one of his tighter-fitting long-sleeved tees. He blinks at me, and gives me that subtle smile I love so much. He doesn't speak, but it seems like he's saying something with his eyes, his mere presence alone: " Honey. You never have to give in. I'm here. I'm here for you. All of me."_

_He strides forward and cups the back of my head, tilting my jaw ever so slightly. He presses his mouth to mine, parting my lips with his. I don't want to stand anymore, and so he slides one hand around my thighs and hoists me up into his arms. _

_Jack's kisses fill me with love, his arms surround me with security, and I am so so loved, so so safe. He kneels down and we start to lie together on soft, sun-warmed grass – _

"Uhh…"

– _and he frees one of his hands to palm my cheek, to touch my face like my hand touches his –_

"Uhn…no…"

– _our romance stops, and I stare, puzzled, into his eyes. – _

"Stoh…no…Ah...Re..."

The Jack in my dreams disappears and my eyes fly open as I hear Jack yell, "NO!"

I startle, rolling over, searching the darkness for his shape. He twists fitfully in the sheets near the other side of the bed. I scoot closer and touch his shoulder. "Jack." My eyes are still adjusting to the darkness and I don't see his arm swing wildly for me in time to stop it. His fist comes in contact with the left side of my head. It catches me in the temple and part of my eye, knocking me back into the middle of the bed.

God. If it's not me having nightmares, it's him. I know better than to ask what we did to deserve them, but god…how long do we have to have them? I mean, shit, even Atlas got a short reprieve when Heracles needed him to do a task for him.

Okay, my analogy was a little exaggerating, but I don't have the time right now to figure out a better one. I lean back over Jack and press myself down upon the left side of his body, trapping his arm beneath me. I'm positive he could throw me off one-handed, so I whisper into his ear, "Jack. Jack. It's me. You're safe. It's me, Renee. You're safe here in L.A., with me." He seems to tense and relax repeatedly, as though he really, really wants to throw me off, but hears me and is hesitating to believe his nightmare. Yes, that's exactly what I want. I rub his right shoulder encouragingly. "Jack. You're safe in L.A. You have me, and your daughter, and your beautiful little granddaughter. You're…you're so loved, and so safe. I promise."

Jack stills beneath me, and I see his eyes blink open cautiously. A breath later, he says hoarsely, "Renee?"

I smile and brush his cheek with the back of my hand, very similarly to the way he did to me in my dream. "Yeah," I say.

He looks around, clearly upset and frustrated and angry with someone – probably himself. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, not looking at me.

"God. Jack, don't apologize." I kiss him chastely on the lips before getting off him. I settle down near him – not cuddling, but close. "Usually it's me having the nightmares."

"Mmm…" he says, in a way that seems to scream his disagreement.

I'm not sure what to say to…I don't know. Soothe his pride. So I roll onto my belly and shove my head into the pillow, staring at him. He lies there, stoically on his back, staring at the ceiling when I'm sure he'd like to throw something.

Tiredness grabs at me. My eyes start to flutter shut even though I use what little willpower I have at this hour to keep them open. "'Night…" I murmur.

Oh well. Maybe if he realizes how little his nightmare bothered me, he'll try to let it go long enough to get some sleep.

* * *

Jack isn't in bed when I wake up. I stretch my arm out to his spot, the sheets and pillow still imprinted with his form. They're still warm. I roll over into the impression, ruining it with my own body, and smell the pillow as I inhale deeply. They smell like him, too. I let the breath out in a morning sigh, and run my fingers through my hair.

After a moment, I get up and make my way out into the rest of the apartment. Jack sits at the kitchen table with his back to me. His back is hunched a bit, his head held low. I thump a bit as I walk in, so as to not startle him. I glance sideways at him. He's got his elbows on the table and his forehead pressed into the heels of his hands. I bite my lip. "Coffee?" I offer.

He's quiet for a moment, then says, "Sure." Which is followed half a moment later with, "Thanks."

I get the coffee grounds out and get to work. Once the coffeemaker's set, I let it do its thing and go over to the table. I pick the chair Teri sat in just two nights ago, sink into it, and lean my elbow on the table. "Do you want to tell me about it?" I say softly.

Jack's eyes stay closed. "No."

For the next ten minutes, Jack's only movement is his breathing. I'd think he'd fallen asleep if he didn't look so tense. When the coffeemaker beeps, I get up, get down two mugs, and pour us each some freshly-brewed coffee. I take him one mug and put it on the table in front of him. "Good morning, Jack. I love you."

I kiss his temple and pad back to the bedroom, my feet padding quietly on the floor, my mug in hand. I take a sip as I pass the threshold, and shudder. Little too black. Oh well. I take another sip and ruffle through my duffle bag, which is mostly empty since I put most of my clothes away in the closet. Where is it… I glance around and spot my book on Jack's dresser. Hmm.

Kipling snugly in hand, I go back to the kitchen. Jack looks up, surprised. "When you left, I thought you didn't want to be around a grumpy old fart," he says. His lips start to curl in a bitter smile, and then they drop into an "o" shape as I sit down across from him.

"What is it?" I say.

He shoves his chair back and stands up, circling the table sharply to my side. His movements are heavy and angry, but his hands are as gentle as they've ever been as they descend on me. One cups my cheek and the other brushes back my hair. His intake of breath is sharp, and he whispers, "_Damn_ it," on his exhale.

"Jack?"

His eyes move minimally to meet mine. "I did that to you," he says, his gaze sliding back to the left of my eyes.

I lift a hand to cover his. A question was about to form in my mind, but stops short with my realization. I know exactly what he must be seeing. "Oh. Did that leave a mark?" I say lightly. "I don't feel a thing."

"_Yes_, it left a mark." Jack huffs. "Renee, I'm so sorry."

I pull his hand from my cheek and press a kiss to the palm, and then I look him straight in the eye. "Don't go feeling guilty about this," I say, frowning. "It's just a little bruise. You had no idea what you were doing. If it stung, which it probably did, I was far too tired and far too worried to notice – at all. And it certainly doesn't hurt now."

Jack nods, but he looks unconvinced. I step closer to him. My lips hover over his, our noses brushing, and then I finally press our lips together in a kiss. We kiss sweetly…sadly…bitterly for a moment.

I pull back, eyes closed, and lean my forehead against his. "Trust me," I whisper.

* * *

Writer's note: *snore* Naugh. It's sleep-time for wolfbonesy. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. :) And hopefully my sleepy, baggy-eyed tiredness didn't mess it up too badly. x3


	27. Chapter 27

I get dressed and head into the bathroom to take care of essentials. I pause to look at myself in the mirror. The bruise is centered on the bone right beneath the eyebrow. It's yellow with a bit of black in the center, but it's not too bad. It's really rather faint, actually. I probe it gently. It doesn't even hurt. Well, I feel the twinges, but those don't qualify as _pain_.

Still, I suppose as I brush my teeth, Jack hates that he so much as touched me negatively. I bend over to rinse out my mouth, and then straighten. My gaze goes immediately to the bruise. It probably reminds him of the black eye he gave me when Teri was kidnapped. Add that to the nightmare itself…

I would love to drain them – his pains, his sorrows, his guilt… I'd like to drain them and throw them out the window with the slosh bucket. But it doesn't work like that. If it did, he would have done the same to me. I know it.

I finish up and walk back out to the kitchen. Jack hasn't moved, except to lay his arms on the table. He stares down at the wood, ever as silent. His eyes are both haunted and exhausted. I doubt he went back to sleep at all last night, and that nightmare happened around one or two a.m. Guilt flashes within me for a moment. Damn. Couldn't I have stayed awake for him? How many times has he held me after my nightmares, cuddled me back to sleep after I woke up crying? And the one time he has the earthshaking nightmare, I go back to sleep like nothing happened?

"Come on," I say, tugging at his elbow.

Jack looks up at me. "What?"

I lift my eyebrows. "Come on," I repeat, trying to keep my voice gentle, yet firm.

He tilts his head questioningly, but does what I ask, and I lead him back to the bedroom. When we get to the bed, he finally says, "What's going on, Renee?"

"You are going to lie down on that bed," I say.

"Renee, I won't be able to sleep."

"You're not going to," I say. "You're going to lay face-down." At his continued questioning look, I add, "Jack, when have I ever brought you harm by asking you to lie down?"

"Never," he says. I let go of his arm and he cautiously gets onto the bed, not sure what to expect.

I shrug off my jeans, thinking it would be more comfortable without them. I climb onto the bed and atop him, straddling him. He tenses beneath me. "Renee?" he says. He uses his arms to lift his chest from the mattress and twists around to look at me.

"You've comforted me many times like this," I say. "Lie back down. I'm not a professional but I promise I won't hurt you." I smile.

"Renee, you don't have to…"

He falls silent again as I start rubbing, and settles back down. He's still tense beneath me, but as I rub and press, starting at the base of his back and moving up, he starts to gradually relax. I wipe over his shoulder blades and then back down. I press firmly and softly, alternating, and then I hear him sigh as he relaxes completely, sinking another inch into the mattress. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"Anytime," I say, leaning over to kiss his upturned cheek, but he is already asleep and doesn't respond.

* * *

I hang up the phone. "That was the hospital," I say. "My next appointment is next Monday. If all goes well, my physical therapy will start later that week."

"That's great," Jack says. "You have been favoring that arm a little. Has it been bothering you?"

"Not too badly," I say, rolling my right shoulder for good measure. "The wound looks less ugly, too. The antibiotics really did their job."

"They only did part of the work," he says. "You kept it clean and rested it to let it heal. That's the biggest thing."

I shrug and sit back down. "I just went along for the ride."

"Mmm."

"Well, I did. I mean, how hard is it to take some pills, keep it clean, and rub some cream on it?"

Jack leans over and kisses the corner of my mouth. "Okay," he says simply.

I smile at the kiss. "You're just saying that to pacify me, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

I lean over and kiss him back.

* * *

Jack's been standing by that window at the end of the hall for a while. I walk up to him and slip my arms around his waist. "What're you thinking?" I ask.

He turns his head and I see half a smile. "I'm thinking it's a beautiful day," he says, nodding at the window. "Why don't we go down for a swim?"

Uh… Whoops. I never got a new swimsuit to replace the one I didn't think to bring along when I left New York. (Most people associate California with beaches and surfing. A swimsuit would have been the first thing they packed. Me? I associate it with Jack and didn't pack much of anything, aside from clothes.)

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jack," I say.

"Oh! Right, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking…your wound…"

"No, that's fine. I could swim, but I don't have a swimsuit, and I think the…" Jack turns around in my arms, and gives me the strangest look. I falter, then finish, "…I think the other tenants wouldn't appreciate me swimming in the nude."

"Renee? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," I say.

"Is there…is there anything you want or need that you haven't asked for," he says, "because you're worried about money?"

The little devil on my left shoulder goes "neener, neener, neener," and poofs into thin air. The little angel on my right shoulder tosses her halo behind her and jumps off, going, "I give up." Great. The two little figments of my imagination abandon ship when they see the iceberg floating up ahead. But I know it's my fault, since I put off and put off every discussion about money.

I open my mouth to answer, and he cuts in quickly with, "Honestly."

And then I close my mouth. I look down and bring my arms up to my body, folding them around my middle. "Honestly?" I say. He nods. "Honestly, you don't need to…"

He silences me with a touch, his fingers against my lips. "I know I don't," he says. "That's not what I asked."

What does he want from me? My cheeks redden. Then it hits me: he wants what he's always given me. The truth. "Of course there are things I want," I say. "But Jack, I don't want you to get everything for me. I…I don't want to be kept!"

Jack's mouth drops for the second time today, and he looks like I just whacked him with a titanium pole. Then a mixture of hurt and anger blaze onto his face, and I wonder what the hell I just started. "Kept?" he whispers, his voice hard. "Is that what you think you are? Is that what you think I want you to be?"

"No…"

"You think I want to lavish things on you to get you to fuck with me, so I can go home whistling?"

"No!"

He steps closer, and I step backward, shocked by his whirlwind change in demeanor. He steps closer again and takes me by the arm – not harshly or violently, to his credit. "Renee," he says, with a short, bitter laugh, "I've tried to show you and tell you in so many ways how much I love you, but you just don't understand. Do you?"

"Jack, I…"

He lets go of my arm and swipes a hand over his face. He pauses for a moment, as though to collect himself, or maybe just to leash his temper. "Look," he finally says. "I'm angry because…hell, the idea that you thought that of me disgusted me. Renee, I never want to hold you back or…or keep you here like some kind of pet. You're far too strong, too independent for that. You need…you're…" He laughs suddenly, genuinely. "This is going to sound really cliché, but you're a bird. You need the room and the freedom to spread your wings and fly. I know that."

I swallow. Even when Jack's angry, he's so incredibly sweet. "Jack, I didn't think you _wanted_ me to be like that." He lifts an eyebrow. "Jack… Please. I've taken care of myself longer than most people do. I virtually raised myself from the time my dad died. When you grow up that fast, self-reliance is hardwired into your brain. I love you, Jack. Really I do. And I know you love me. But…needing to rely on someone else, anyone else…for things like this… It honestly freaks me out."

Jack crosses his own arms. "I didn't realize you felt that strongly about it," he says.

The eye of the storm came and went in seconds, like lightning. "I'm sorry, Jack."

His brows furrow as he smiles softly, and he cups my cheek. "I'm sorry, too. But… I just want you to see where I'm coming from, here, on the money issue." I nod. "I said a while back that I'm well off. That's an understatement. I never spent much of what I earned after Teri died anyway, and then when my father and brother died, the business was left to me. I dissolved it, because I knew that was the one thing that would've made my asshole father writhe in agony. I left considerable portions to Kim, as well as to my nephew, but what remains is just sitting there, collecting dust, metaphorically speaking. And there's a lot of it. I can live very comfortably for a couple of decades, assuming someone I pissed off doesn't off me before then."

"Don't tempt fate," I joke weakly.

He smiles at my effort. "Listen, Renee…There's too much of it for me to use by myself. The only thing I want to do with it is take care of the people I love. I have a good sum set aside in the bank for my granddaughter's education, for example." I unfold my arms, and immediately he does, too, to take my hands. "Couples spend money on each other all the time. I'm not trying to keep you. I'm trying to take care of you, because you mean so much to me." He wraps me in his arms, next, and says into my ear, "Is that too much to ask?"

"No…" I say. "But…I shouldn't need taking care of."

Jack pulls back only enough to look at me. The corner of his smiling mouth twitches. "It's give and take, Renee. Give and take. You should understand that concept pretty well – you demonstrated it this morning, by comforting me after my nightmare."

"But you do that all the time for me," I say. "I'd be horrible if I didn't comfort you."

"Exactly," he says. Then he pauses. "Exactly to the first half of that," he corrects himself. "You wouldn't be horrible."

"I see what you're saying." I don't necessarily agree with the second half of that, but I see where he's coming from.

He kisses me on the lips. "Good," he murmurs against them. "So, you'll let me spend money on you once in a while?"

"Only if you let me comfort you after every nightmare," I say. I'm not sold on the idea of him buying things for me, but like I said, I do know when my self-reliance streak is rearing its ugly head. At least, though, I have a good possibility of a job in the next couple of weeks, a job I'm sure I'll love.

"Well, that'll be such a hardship, but I suppose I can agree to that," Jack teases.

"Good."

* * *

I hate swimsuit shopping. I didn't want to come swimsuit shopping. Why on earth did I agree to go swimsuit shopping?

Every suit I've tried on looks hideous on me. It's not the swimsuits – although there were some perfectly awful ones one there – it's me. I haven't done much of anything to keep myself in shape since I was shot, so I gained a bit of fat in the tummy region. Which is fine with jeans and tee shirts, or even the work suit, but in skimpy, second-skin type swimsuits? Blech.

I look at myself in the mirror. The mirror hasn't cracked yet, which is a fine tribute to its endurance. Although, I'm sure people fatter than me try on swimsuits all the time… Not that I'm fat.

This blue number looks less awful than the pink one, though not by much. It's a one-piece, which is probably my first problem. I ought to look at two-piece suits, too. I've only ever worn one-piece in the past, but in a two-piece, my slight belly bulge might be less noticeable.

"How's it going in there?" a voice says softly outside the door.

"Jack?" I hiss. "You can't be in here!"

"Why not?"

Because it's the ladies' fitting room, that's why. Oh. The breaker of multiple federal laws. Right. "Because you're going to give some old lady a heart attack," I say.

"No I'm not," he says, humor lacing his voice. "Well? Did you like any of those?"

"We're going to have to leave without a swimsuit, Jack."

"You didn't like them."

Au contraire, I like the suits. I just don't like them on me. "Mmm-hmm."

"Here. Try this one."

He hands a hanger over the door, and I grab for it without looking, too focused on how bad the blue swimsuit looks on me. When I pull the hanger down to eye level, I'm stunned. And my cheeks go red. I can't hold back the sigh that escapes me. I turn to the door and open it just a crack. "Jack?" I say lightly.

He smiles. "Yes?"

I hold out the hanger with the lingerie set. "_This_ is not a swimsuit. This is a bra-and-panties set." And it's not even anywhere near my size. I wear a double-B cup. These are at least a C.

Jack breaks down and grins. "But aren't they a good idea anyway?"

The ex-FBI agent is only partly amused. I shove the lacy underwear at his chest. "Then _you_ try it on," I say tightly, with a smile, and then I close the door.

"Uh, that's okay," he says.

I stick my tongue out at my reflection. "I'm going to get dressed now," I say, eager for the comfort of my jeans. My reflection never mocks me when I'm wearing jeans.

"We can try another store if you want," he says.

"No, that's okay. What time is it?"

"A little after one."

"Why don't we get lunch?" I say. Anything is preferable to more swimsuit shopping.

"Okay," he agrees.

* * *

"Renee," Jack says as we find a seat, "did you really not like any of the swimsuits you tried, or were you trying to avoid me buying them?"

I suppose not liking how the swimsuits look on me is akin to not liking them. "I was avoiding you buying them _because _I didn't like them," I say, raising an eyebrow. I pick up my sandwich and bite into it.

Jack nods. "Okay. I just wanted to be sure."

I swallow my bite and smile at him. "I meant what I said earlier. I'm not thrilled with it, but I'm not going to throw a fit if you try to buy something for me."

"I never thought you would," he says, smiling back. "I'm just glad we got that out in the open. Has it been bothering you all this time?"

"Sort of," I admit.

"You can tell me anything, Renee. You don't have to keep these things bottled up."

"Oh, and you share every insecurity you have with me, right?" I say.

"Touché."

* * *

Jack's cell rings in the taxi on the way home. "Chloe?" he says, sounding surprised. "Hey. How are you?" He pauses while she speaks. "What is it?"

Oh, god. Not that Chloe isn't a caring, likable person – at least to us – but every time she calls, something's wrong. Jack listens intently. "You did what?" he says quietly. "…I see. All right. Thanks for telling me. Yeah. …I'll do that. …Chloe, that's none of your business. …I'm sorry. Yes, I know that. …You know I do. Well, why didn't you tell me sooner? …Oh. Yes. You're right. I should check my voicemail more often. …Chloe, I don't let it go for months at a time without checking. Okay, so it's only a little exaggeration, but it's still an ex…okay. Yeah. I'll talk to you later. Take care."

He presses the end button and stares at his phone for a few moments. "What was that all about?" I ask.

"…I'm not ready to say yet," he says.

"Okay. Is something wrong? I mean, I know you said you're not ready to say, but tell me, is there some national disaster she called you for help on?"

He smiles – barely, but it's there. "No. Nothing like that." He kisses my cheek. "I'm not going anywhere. Besides, even if there was an emergency, I wouldn't go. It's time for someone else to get their hands dirty. No one will get any experience if I keep showing up to pull their asses out of the fire."

"Hmm." I smile. "That's true." Although…what happened to, "not with nuclear weapons on the line!" in response to, "then this is how they get it"? I suppose any argument would have sufficed under the circumstances. And I didn't complain too much about his presence when he stopped Vladimir's people from killing me.

The taxi pulls over to the curb and I open the door and slide out. Jack follows me, and we head up to the apartment together.

"Hi Renee," Tania says as we reach the second floor.

She startles me. "Tania," I say. "This is a surprise. Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Spring break," she says, with a "duh" expression. She's sitting on the railing, not at all concerned with the drop behind her.

"Ah," I say. "So, what're you up to?"

Shrugging, she says, "Stuff. Avoiding the jerks. Avoiding my uncle. The usual."

"Good luck with that. Though, why avoid your uncle?" I say.

"He seems to think I don't 'socialize enough,'" she says, rolling her eyes.

"Is he wrong?" I ask, smiling pointedly.

"Not entirely." She shuffles her feet and then says, "See you later," and heads off.

Jack watched the entire exchange quietly. "She likes you," he says.

"I suppose."

"Hey, she's reaching out to you, even if briefly. That's something."

I link my arm through his. "You know what?" I say as we continue up to our apartment. "I think you're right."

* * *

Writer's Note: I thought it was about time for Jack and Renee to have a confrontation that didn't end up with one of them storming out. x3 And I don't know what Chloe's up to but she's probably up to no good, that Chloe. Like it, love it, hate it? Lemme know. Especially about the confrontation, because there were a few things in there that I'm very tentative about keeping in there. Thank you all for your continued support. Much obliged. :)


	28. Chapter 28

Writer's Note: Whoo, college! o.o Six college classes is nothing to sneeze at. I hope I'll be able to keep up with this story. (I'm kidding. Even with college, I'm sure I'll be able to find the time to update weekly or biweekly.) Without further ado, chapter 28, folks.

* * *

I open Janis' latest email.

"_Renee, I thought we agreed NEVER to mention that godawful nickname._

"_Anyway, great news! The doctor confirmed my pregnancy. I'm about six weeks along. My due date is in January. I'm torn between 'can't wait!' and 'holy crap that's too soon!'_

"_So far I haven't had any morning sickness, but my cravings are kind of freaky. Ice cream and sardines freaky. And I _hate_ sardines!"_

"_You really haven't smoked? I'm so proud of you! Do you feel clean?_

"_Hmm, you're right about your tempers. Hey, I'll behave. Mostly. Okay, okay, completely._

"_Anyway, I have to get back to work. They're anal about that sort of thing now._

"_Janis."_

Grinning, as I always do when Janis sends me an email, I start to reply.

"_Janis, When did we make _that_ agreement? (Wink, wink.) –"_

"Renee? You coming?"

Oh, dinner. "Uh-huh," I say. I save a draft and close out of the laptop. I put it on the counter as I walk over to the table. Jack has laid out two large plates brimming with pasta, bread and salad. "You know," I say casually, "we should make up the second bedroom soon."

"Yeah?" Jack says.

I nod. "I was thinking last Saturday that, if we didn't want to use it as an office, we could make it a bedroom for Teri. You know, for when she comes over."

Jack finishes his bite. "That's an idea," he says. "But I doubt she'd be over here that often. She's in school now, and Kim and Stephen don't take trips often, they say. They have their system and their backup plans. Any time left over for grandparents is likely to be divided with the McAllen's, too."

"Whichever would be fine with me," I say. "We'd need to buy furniture either way…a desk and a chair…"

"We could go shopping for those things tomorrow," he says. "We need to get groceries anyway."

"Sounds good," I say. I'm smiling, though I'm not really excited about more shopping. At least I'm not trying on swimsuits this time.

"Oh, and Renee?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"This doesn't count as me spending money on you," he says, smirking.

Damn. "Damn. Can I back out, then?"

"No."

"Damn."

He chuckles. I smile.

* * *

So that was how I got roped into more shopping. The first furniture store is crowded, and we don't find what we like. It seems that Jack and I have similar tastes in furniture. We both agree that we want something made of dark, natural wood, and that the desk should be no greater than about seventy-two inches.

After looking through the first store, we head down to the second store, which is downtown. It's a small shop, but it's tidy and respectable, with a cloth "SALE!" banner hanging above the cashier's desk. We smile, nod and wave away the salespeople, and set to browsing.

"What about this one?" Jack says, rubbing the finish of a dark mahogany table.

"It seems a little small," I say, "and there aren't any drawers. We'd have to get a separate filing cabinet for paperwork."

He nods, and immediately scans the room for the next possibility. I guess he didn't really like that one.

When I moved into the snazzy apartment I had in D.C., before "The Day," I had a philosophy that you should never make a purchase of over $100 unless you really loved it. I had a nice desk then – it was a light oak desk, with carved flourishes and brass knobs. I spent more on it than the couch or the bed. I was very work-oriented then - I'd thrown myself into my career following my years in Russia, so my desk at home was a sanctuary and my most favored piece.

I don't have the same values now. A fine-looking, presentable desk would be nice, but I'm more interested in function. The apartment as a whole is my sanctuary now, my home with Jack.

"Renee? This one is larger than the other one, with more storage space."

While I was lost in my musings, Jack had been working on the task at hand, and had pointed out another desk. My gaze travels from Jack to the desk, which is long and narrow. It has one large filing drawer and two smaller ones, and two flat columns hold up a set of cabinets with glossy sliding doors a couple of feet above the main work space. I step closer to read the information sheet in the plastic frame. It says that the desk is made of rosewood – which would explain the very subtle, lingering fragrance – and that the price is $1,750. Ouch! That's more than the monthly rent.

"Rosewood is a very expensive wood," I say, trying to mask my initial shock. "A decent desk made in oak or maple will cost half that."

Jack takes a look around the desk area and then meets my eyes again. "Renee?"

"Yes?"

"Do you like the desk?"

"Yes," I admit cautiously.

He smiles. "Great. So do I."

"But…Jack…"

He steps up to me and his fingers graze my arm. "Let me splurge a little, okay?"

I'm reminded of two things. One, it's his money, and two, he's allowed to do whatever he wants with it. "Mmm…" I smile, mouth closed. "Yeah. Okay."

"You really don't like shopping, do you?" he says in a neutral tone.

"No, I don't," I say with a small headshake and laugh.

"Then let's go pay and then go home."

"Oooh," the saleswoman gushes when we say we'd like to order the desk. "That rosewood piece? I'm surprised it's been there as long as it has. It's a _great_ price for such fine wood, and very rarely used wood, too! Most of the time all you find in rosewood are antique desks, or more commonly, little bits of wooden things – like desk compasses or music boxes or such. Here, let me pull up a purchase form…" Her long, painted nails click-clack on the keyboard's keys until she says, "Ah! Here it is. Will you be taking it home yourselves or would you like to order shipping?"

The desk would never fit in a taxi, so we order shipping and handling. Jack hands over a credit/debit card, signs the necessary paperwork, and about ten minutes later, we're out the door.

* * *

Tania is in the courtyard alone when we get to the apartment complex. "Renee? I'm bored just shooting hoops," she says, with only a little bit of whine in her tone. "Play with me?" She immediately seems to school her expression, as though she's reminding herself that she doesn't care if I say no.

"Sure," I say, surprising myself at least as much as I surprise her. Wait a minute. Wasn't I supposed to say something like, "Sorry, I can't do anything rigorous until physical therapy"?

"Really?" she says, her eyes wide.

"Uh-huh." I nod, and then look to Jack.

He just kisses my cheek. "I'll go on up and clear space for the desk in the second room," he says. "Take it easy, honey." He squeezes my arm above my wrist and starts off.

"I will," I say, watching him go. Looking back at Tania, I say, "Well, how about it? Are we going to the basketball court?"

She shakes herself out of her stunned stupor. "Yeah," she says. "Let's go." She looks behind us, as we walk, and a moment later, asks, "That's your boyfriend, right?"

"Jack? Yes, he is," I say.

"Is he a good guy?" she asks.

I pause, and then smile. "I think he's one of the best," I say. "He's not perfect by any stretch, but he's pretty wonderful in a lot of ways."

"You're not gonna get all mushy on me, are you?" she says, wrinkling her nose.

Laughing, I say, "I promise I'll wait until you're not around to get mushy."

"Good."

When we reach the basketball court, I say, "Just don't be rough with me just yet, okay? Generally I can take a beating, but my doctor will be really mad at me if I go in on Monday worse than when I went in last time."

She nods, and then faces me. "You ready?" she says.

"Not in the slightest. I know nothing about basketball."

This comment earns me a rare grin. "All you have to do is make sure I don't get the ball into your hoop."

"Is that all?" I say, smirking. That part I knew. But I know nothing else. My family, before Dad's death, was a football family – occasionally hockey. I can rough out flag football with any of 'em – Kim's brother-in-laws better watch out next month, when I'm healed up some more – but basketball? Does the word "huh" ring a bell?

Tania shrugs. "Yep." And then darts around me, bouncing the ball toward the hoop.

Oh boy.

* * *

By the time we're done, I'm out of breath and my wound is burning from the effort. But true to her word, Tania didn't push or shove – not that she needed to. She's small enough that she fooled me into thinking she was nine or ten instead of twelve, but it never really hit me how tiny she is until she evaded my every move, ducking and twisting out of the way. Small and fast.

"How do those boys push you around when you're that fast?" I huff.

Tania shrugs. "My mom always said never to run away. She said to stand your ground." She looks down, avoiding my gaze.

"Tania, there's some wisdom to that, but there's a lot of wisdom in protecting yourself, too. Your mom wanted you to be confident, but she wouldn't have wanted you to let yourself get hurt," I say.

"How do _you_ know what she wanted?" she shoots back.

"Well…" I say, "because it's what my dad wanted for me. And he loved me like I'm betting your mom loved you."

Tania leans her elbows on her knees, rolling the basketball under her bottom as she sat on it. "I guess."

"Tania, she loved you," I say firmly. In the back of my head, nasty little facts bubble to the surface of my mind – that not all parents love their children like they ought to. That Tania's mother may very well have been one of them. Jack's dad was one of them. It could happen to anybody.

"If she loved me, she wouldn't have left."

"Your Uncle Jeb told me she died, sweetheart," I say.

"That's as bad as leaving – even worse, 'cos when you die, you can't come back!" Tania says.

"We don't have a choice in when we die."

"I know that," she says, glaring that "I'm-not-a-stupid-baby" type of glare. "But…" Her voice trails off.

"But…what?" I ask.

"Nothing," Tania mutters. She looks at the ground, and her eyes start to water, but her brows are furrowed and she tries not to let them slip.

"Hey. Can I give you a hug?"

She looks at me, tears subsiding slightly to her surprise. "What?" she says.

"When I was upset, my dad would give me a hug," I say. "It made me feel better." I shrug in an offhanded way, trying to make it seem like it's no big deal, even though I'm going to feel awful if she rejects my hug like I'm a monster.

Tania blinks, and then looks down again. After a minute, she quietly says, "Sure."

Her answer rings in my ears for a moment, and I swallow. Then I step close to her side, sit down on my knees, and wrap my arms around her. She fits in my arms like a stiff, life-sized doll, but she's not a doll. She's a real, breathing, living, hurting girl on the cusp of her teenage years. If I ever had a little girl, I'd want her to be like Tania, because whether she knows it or not, she is strong. She survived her father's abuse, and yes, she came out of it bitter and angry, but she's alive. She may think she wish she weren't, but the fact is, she's still alive, and that means more than she could imagine.

She doesn't return my hug, but she does relax into it after a few minutes, and that in itself is priceless.

* * *

"You look exhausted," Jack says as I close the door behind me.

"I am exhausted," I say.

"How's your wound?" he asks. He comes up and gently touches the fabric of my shirt covering the bandage. I can't stop the wince from even that light touch. "Did the ball hit you?" he says, because of course he wouldn't miss even the slightest of winces.

"No," I say. "Neither the ball nor Tania so much as touched me." I huff a laugh. "I barely got the ball in my _hands_ in that entire hour. Jack, that girl can _run_."

He smiles and starts to lead me to the bedroom, my hand tucked into his. "If she can run, then why does she have problems with the local bullies?" he asks. "Can't she just outrun them?" I sit on the edge of the bed. He disappears into the master bathroom.

"That's what I said," I say. "She told me that her mom told her not to run from bullies." I see the bandages he carries out and I lift my shirt awkwardly over my head.

Jack frowns. "That's fine – if you're going to teach her how to defend herself. Which she obviously didn't. There's a difference between standing up for yourself and taking a beating."

I nod. "Very true."

He peels away the old bandage and inspects my wound. "You didn't reopen it," he says. "It looks redder to me, but that's the worst of it." He gives me look of half-exasperation, half-desperation. "_Please_ stop working it," he says. "In another week or so you can work it all you want under the eye of a trained specialist."

"Yes, dear," I say flatly. His eyes narrow. I smile and kiss his lips softly.

Jack's lips press together tightly and he shakes his head. "Okay," he mutters. He rolls on the ointment and carefully puts on the new bandage, pressing at the farthest edges so to avoid hurting me.

"I love you," I whisper. I should have said "thank you," but the wrong words popped out.

His expression softens and he smiles. "I love you too," he murmurs roughly. He cups the back of my head and kisses me deeply.

Okay, maybe they were the right words…

* * *

Friday afternoon and there's only two more days until my appointment with Dr. Shaw. I can't help being a little excited. Jack is out for some quality time with his daughter, who has half-days every other Friday.

_Beedle beedle, beep. Beedle beedle, beep._

I put down the Time magazine, which Jack has a subscription to, and pick up the phone. "Hello?"

"_Renee? Is Jack in?_" Chloe says..

"No, why?" I say.

"_Well, when he gets in, could you ask him to call me?_"

"Sure, of course. Ah, Chloe, what's going on?"

"_Nothing. Well, it's not nothing. It's something, but it's something I shouldn't tell you_," she says in her stunted way of speaking.

Well, if that wasn't a totally bizarre answer… "Okay," I say slowly. Then I remember that Chloe called Jack recently, and that he didn't want to tell me what it was about, and I wince. Crap! He's going to think that I'm prying again. "I'm not trying to pry into his personal life," I add hastily. "It's just that you never call when something _isn't_ wrong and…"

"_How did you know it had something to do with his personal life_?" she demands, and then she sort of gasps. "_Uh! – I mean…_"

"And this call gets weirder and weirder," I mutter. In a louder voice, I say, "Look, Chloe, I'll tell him you called, but let's keep this conversation between us, okay?"

"_Agreed_," she says, and hangs up.

I put the phone down. I'm not hiding anything from Jack, per se. He's allowed to keep personal conversations to himself. Well, so am I, and so is Chloe. Technically, none of us is obligated to tell each other anything.

My heart sinks for a moment. But the thing is, friends and family and couples do tell each other things. But…I really think that, for both me and Chloe, not telling Jack about the exact nature of our conversation is a good thing.

I wasn't prying. I wasn't, I remind myself firmly. Chloe is often the bearer of bad news. And she rarely does call just to say hi. It was only natural to assume that all had gone to hell in a handbasket, which things frequently do.

* * *

Jack returns after the normal dinnertime. "Hey," he says. "Sorry I'm in late."

I quirk an eyebrow. "You're a big boy," I say. "You're allowed to be out past nine o'clock."

He smiles a little guiltily. "Yeah, but I could've called. You did eat, right?"

Kissing his cheek, I confirm that I did eat dinner without him, and I deliver Chloe's message. Jack frowns. "Chloe called?" he says.

"Well, the phrase, 'Chloe called and asked for you to call her back,' isn't code for anything else," I tease.

"Yeah, that was a stupid question," he says, grinning. "Well, she doesn't need me calling her at one-thirty in the morning, so I'll call her tomorrow." He puts an arm around me and we head to the bedroom. "You didn't do any rigorous basketball practices while I was gone, did you?" he asks, his voice light.

"No, dear," I say. For the last several days, Tania and I met regularly on the basketball court – for some hoops (or misses, in my case) but nothing harder. Today was no exception. Actually, today I just sat and watched her as she tossed hoops. She seemed content enough to do it with me nearby for company, even if we didn't have deep, heavy conversation or share words of wisdom.

"You mean that?" he says.

"Yes," I say, more sincerely.

He kisses my temple. "Thank you."

I turn and kiss him more thoroughly, and then pull back. His lips remain parted in the air for a long moment. "I don't know why you're so worried about a little bit of basketball," I say, smirking. "What we do in this bed…" I push him backward until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. "…is far more rigorous than that sport."

Jack smirks back. "Yeah, but you are far more stationary during _these_ activities, so there's far less strain on your wound." He kisses my ear. "Do you want me to show you?" he says, voice low and husky.

"Mmm…please do," I say.

* * *

Writer's Note: Never worry about giving me constructive criticism. Honest. A lot of fanfiction writers get butthurt when they get criticism, but I won't. I don't for two reasons: it's too tiring to get enraged at the slightest negative comment, and also, there's something to be learned from multiple opinions. That being said, I won't address everything that was brought up in the reviews in this writer's note, because it could potentially end up longer than the chapter itself! But sometime in the future I'll try to address concerns in a special "just-for-writer's-note" chapter. (Said chapter would not published instead of a new story chapter. I would make sure I have a new story chapter for you, too.) So I thank you all for _all_ types of reviews – short reviews, long reviews, honest reviews, any and all. Feedback of all types is appreciated! :)


	29. Chapter 29

Jack decides to go for a Saturday-morning jog. I sit home and sip coffee, because frankly, some alone time is refreshing. When we got together, I sought his company all the time – except for moments like using the bathroom and such – because then, I wanted to starve away the loneliness. And now, spending a morning or an afternoon without Jack doesn't bother me anymore. I still love him and I'm still happy to see him when he comes back, but I don't feel empty – and maybe that's because I know that he _will_ come back.

I'm about to "find out" what happens to Mowgli – because of course, I already know – when I hear a faint knock on the door.

Jack doesn't need to knock…who else would it be? Tania, maybe? She's probably seen me come in and out enough to know that this is where I live. I go answer the door.

It's not Tania, but Jeb. He gives me an awkward smile. "Hi," he says.

"Hi, Jeb," I say, trying to smile back but feeling too confused.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Um, sure – come on in." I open the door further and step out of the way. "What's this about?" Wow, that sounded kind of snotty. "I mean…" I say, flushing.

Jeb comes into the hallway and turns to me, twiddling his thumbs. "No, it's okay," he says. "I understand. Uh…I'm feeling awkward, too. I came here with a list of questions that I was supposed to ask and now I can't remember any of them."

…Huh? "I'm not following you," I say, frowning. A good hostess would offer coffee or something, but now I'm feeling on edge…

Jeb seems conflicted. He opens his mouth and closes it, and then he laughs. "Okay, look. I never expected to be a parent. And I'm not. I'm just her uncle, but god, I love her to death, and…" He rubs the back of his neck, smiling wryly. "I'm making a fool of myself, aren't I?"

"Only half a fool," I say. "I'd feel much better if you just came out and say what's bothering you."

Shock flashes across his face, but then it's gone in nanoseconds. "It's about Tania," he says slowly.

"Is she okay?"

"Ehh…" He waves his hand in a so-so manner. "She's fine, physically, and she's getting there mentally…oh god, that sounded awful…"

"Jeb?" I press.

"Right. Um. You've been spending a lot of time with Tania, right?"

"Yes," I say, nodding.

"Well…uh…why?" He says the last word bluntly, then scrunches up his forehead as though that wasn't what he meant to say.

Suddenly, it starts to click. "Oh!" I say, my eyes widening.

"Not that she shouldn't be interacting with others, but it's just, you're not her age – I don't mean to say you're old," he says, laughing uneasily. "It's just that this is unusual and…well, I just want to make sure she doesn't get hurt." He looks like he's going to tack another "not that I think…" on the end of that, but then he closes his mouth tightly and…

Honestly, he looks quite pained. I can't bite back a chuckle. I clamp my hand down on my mouth and snort another chuckle. Lifting my hand only enough to speak, I say, "I'm sorry. I know this isn't funny." Damn right it isn't funny. I'd ask how he could possibly think I'd ever want to hurt her, but I know enough of the world to know that sometimes people do that, and that it's every parent or guardian's duty to prevent it at all costs.

Jeb seems to relax a little. "I'm sorry, too," he says. "I'm a mess. I don't know how to raise a kid, but I can't imagine my life without her, you know? In just a couple short years, even as surly and untrusting as she is, Tania wormed her way into my heart, and I can't bear the thought of her living with anyone else." He smiles. "But I still have no idea what I'm doing."

"Neither do I, half the time," I say. "Jack's granddaughter is precious, but I'm always walking on eggshells, wondering when I'm going to say or do the wrong thing."

"Yeah?" Jeb says.

"Yeah." I smile at him. "I'm not going to hurt your niece, Jeb."

"I didn't really think you would," he says, sighing. "I'm sorry I barged in here and started questioning you like a bumbling buffoon."

"I'm sorry that, in this day and age, you have to," I say somberly.

"Yeah…"

"Your first priority is your niece's well-being. I get that," I say. "That's important."

"So…I'm just wondering. Why _are _you spending so much time with her, if you're not a psycho child molester?" he says, his lips curling into a half smile.

"To be honest, I see a lot of myself in her. I don't want her to regret that wall of lonesomeness she's built around herself."

"You were like her, once?" he says. His eyes widen slightly. I nod. "So you were…"

"I wasn't abused by my father, if that's what you're asking," I say, my metaphorical feathers ruffling.

"Sorry," he says.

Remembering that he couldn't possibly have known what a loving father I had, and noting that it was an obvious conclusion based on the vagueness of my reply, I bite my lip. "I did go through some bad things with some pretty bad people," I admit. Jeb's expression goes from apologetic to attentive. "I can't tell you most…actually, any of it, because it's classified information."

"You can't tell anyone?" he says. "Not even a psychologist?"

"A government psychologist, yes," I say, "but not a civilian one. They have to be cleared with high security clearance."

He whistles and nods. "So what were you?"

"I was an FBI agent for a number of years," I say.

Jeb nods at this information. "Well, I feel better knowing that the first person my niece is opening up to was once an FBI agent!" he says, laughing.

I remember how Stephen reacted when Jack asked me to guard his family. "I get that a lot," I say.

* * *

"Oh!" I say.

"I thought you'd like them," Jack says. His smile is that small, pleasant one, but I can tell that he's secretly enjoying himself.

The flowers are soft pink azaleas. My heart seems to beat more quietly in mutual awe, and I feel my lips curl up in a smile. I bring the bouquet to my nose and breathe in. They smell wonderful. "Thank you," I say.

Jack kisses my cheek. "You're welcome," he murmurs in his gravelly voice. He laughs in a shaky voice, a tired voice that's a testament to how hard he ran this morning. "I'm all sweaty," he says. "I'm going to go get a shower."

"And I'll put these in a vase," I say. There's a dark purple vase under the count…er…

"It was you!" I exclaim, feeling stupid that I hadn't figured it out before.

Jack turns in the hallway. "What's that?" he says.

I whirl around. "You were the one that sent me the flowers in the hospital!"

He shrugs offhandedly. "Yeah," he says, looking away briefly.

My amazement subsides for a moment. Well, that discovery isn't as earthshaking as it seemed half a moment ago. "Why didn't you tell me?" I ask curiously.

He shrugs offhandedly again. "It didn't seem important," he says.

"Well… Thank you."

"You already thanked me," he says.

"I did for these flowers. Now I'm thanking you for the first ones."

Jack smiles. "You don't have to."

"Yes I do. I didn't before."

"You didn't know before."

I smile, and pluck one of the flowers from the bouquet, twirling it between my fingers and touching the flower lightly to my lips. "But I do now."

* * *

The flowers need somewhere with sunshine, so I place the vase on the desk in the second bedroom, which is right in front of a window. I'm so glad we chose a corner apartment. The placement means more windows, which makes it more open and airy.

I'm just finishing an email to Janice when I hear something behind me. I turn, placing my arm along the backrest of the borrowed kitchen chair, and see Jack leaning in the doorway, smiling. "How long have you been standing there?" I say.

He comes up to me, and bends over, wrapping his arms around me from behind. "Not long," he says. He smells like pine.

"Is that a new aftershave?" I say, my fingers brushing his jaw.

"Mmm-hmm," he mumbles, his mouth too busy pressing against my neck to give me an actual worded answer. What a fine distraction.

"C'mere," I chuckle, pulling his head up so that the next things he kisses are my lips.

* * *

"Find anything?" Jack asks.

Since it's been a year or more since I went book-browsing, I suggested the only type of shopping I like: the kind done at Borders. There's something cathartic about being in a store of books. You don't have to find a book that fits, you don't have to ponder the choice between the $800 oak desk and the $3,000 equivalent, you don't have to worry about whether it can be tumble-dried or if it needs dry-cleaning…

"No, just looking," I say, pulling down a mystery hardcover to look at.

Jack squeezes himself strategically against the shelf, so I look up and see his raised eyebrows. "Hey, you bought me flowers this morning," I say. "Don't pester me to find something to buy or I'll get riled, and this is supposed to be relaxing."

I swear he almost rolled his eyes at that one. "I'm going to go look at magazines," he says, dropping a kiss on my brow. "Meet you in the Starbucks?"

"I thought they only had those in Barnes and Nobles stores?" I say.

"I guess Borders caught on a few years ago," Jack says, shrugging. "But the mocha coconut frappuccino is good."

Something about Jack saying "mocha coconut frappuccino" sounds funny. I snort. "Okay," I say.

"What?" he says, puzzled.

I can imagine him grabbing the server and pulling him over by the counter, shouting, "_This is vital to this nation's security! I need a mocha coconut frappuccino STAT!_"

"What?" he repeats when I put my hand over my mouth to cover my giggle. (Chuckle. Damnit.)

"Nothing," I say, putting the book back. "I'll meet you over there." I kiss his lips softly. His lips curl into a smile to match mine. All feels well.

* * *

Writer's Note: Hmm! All is well...


	30. Chapter 30

Writer's Note: e.e I am such a dork. Of all the days I could have run out of gas, I ran out of gas on one of the dog days of summer. Please remind me to fill up my gas tank so I can do homework and write new chapters before it's midnight. (Which, it isn't now, but it will be by the time I'm done with my photography paper... XD Finishing off this chapter seemed much more appealing. So now that I'm done with my play, I have to do work. See ya'll in chapter 31! :3)

* * *

"Well, that looks good, Renee," Dr. Shaw says. "Have you been having any other problems lately?"

"I am about a week late for my period," I admit.

"Well, I wouldn't worry too much about that. Injury or illness can often affect your menstrual cycle in unwanted ways. You could be late, or you could be skipping a month entirely. Although, if you've been practicing unprotected sex, it is possible that you're pregnant."

My mouth drops. "But…I would know if I were pregnant, wouldn't I?" I say. "Wouldn't I be able to tell?"

Dr. Shaw smiles. "None of us is a computer. We can't read every little change in our body and know immediately what's going on. If we could, I would be out of a job!" She gives me a wink. "Anything's possible, but given the circumstances, it's very likely that your body is just getting a little payback for being shot."

"Great. Someone else shoots me, and my body blames me for it," I mutter.

She laughs, pulls off her latex gloves and goes to her computer, tapping information on the keyboard. "Word is that there was a cancellation in the physical therapy department. Want in?"

"Today?" I say, blinking. "Okay, now I know I'm dreaming."

She laughs. "Yes, today. I've got another patient that technically has been waiting longer than you, but she's been such a snot, pardon my unprofessionalism for a moment here, whereas you have been nothing but a joy to treat." She leans in conspiratorially for a moment. "Do you know how rare it is to find a patient willing to follow your exact instructions?"

"I'm not a doctor, so no."

"Well, it's rare," she says, going back to her typing. "And I'm a full believer in the buddy system. So you're in. Go to the front desk, and ask Jessie to print you out your papers."

"Thank you!" I say. Wow. I'd sure say I've hit a stroke of good luck!

Dr. Shaw smiles. "You're quite welcome. If you follow Dr. Jacobsen's advice and instruction as well as you did mine, you'll be good as new in a few months, maybe shorter." I make a face before I can stop myself. She chortles. "Take it easy, tiger," she says, in an almost fond tone. "These things don't heal overnight, and there's no way to force it. The best thing you could have going for you is a good attitude. And, of course, your willingness to follow instruction and advice." She chuckles to herself at that.

A good attitude. Follow instructions and advice. It feels like all I've been doing is what other people tell me to do, which sometimes rubs me the wrong way, but…sigh. I'd like to regain painless use of my injured muscles, so I better just get used to it. "Yes, Dr. Shaw."

* * *

"Let's see…Walker. Renee. Uh-huh, Dr. Shaw has you seeing Dr. Jacobsen in two hours." Jessie prints out some papers. "This is information about the physical therapy program you'll likely be using," she says, sliding the first bunch over the counter to me. "This is the liability agreement, which needs to be signed and dated before you can attend your appointment." She slides the next bunch. "And this is your 'bill of health,'" she quips. "Payment can be mailed by check, charged to a credit card, or paid in full now."

My bill of health shows $900 for the last two check-up visits – and that's including a government service discount that Dr. Shaw must have added when I inadvertently told her I used to be FBI. There's no way I can pay this bill. I sigh. Well, at least Jack will be able to buy me something – my hospital visits!

"Everyone always sighs at me like that," Jessie says, blinking at me, her tone slightly wounded.

"It's the bill they're sighing at," I say. "I'll have to pay this later." I stack the bill on top of my other papers.

Jessie nods with a sympathetic smile. "That's fine, ma'am," she says.

"How much will physical therapy cost?" I ask.

"Oh…well, initial appointments cost a flat rate of $200, and from there they either go up or down depending on the severity of the case," Jessie says.

"And how often do they go below $200?"

She shrugs awkwardly. "Not really often," she says in a hushed tone. "But at first glance, you don't look too bad off. I see all kinds of people headed toward physical therapy, some on crutches, some in wheelchairs, some in slings… The cases we get can be pretty bad. Bad, bad, bad." She smiles.

"Thank you," I say.

"Anytime, ma'am."

"Is there a phone I could use?" If I'm going to be here for two hours, just waiting for the appointment to start, I should call Jack and let him know.

"There's a pay phone down the hall." Jessie points the way.

"Thank you." God, you even need to pay to use the phones in this place.

I drop some quarters into the phone and put the phone to my ear. I dial Jack's cell phone number, and in moments, he picks up.

"_Hello_?"

"Hey, it's me."

"_Renee. Hi_." The gruffness of his voice seems to be amplified by the phone, but I can still make out the loving tone. I can practically hear the smile. "_Did your appointment go all right_?"

"My appointment went great," I say, leaning with my arm against the hospital wall. Nurses and patients pass by me with irregularity, none of them paying attention to me in the least. It's as though I've entered a bubble, and there's only Jack and I. "In fact, Dr. Shaw managed to slip my name in the database to replace the cancellation they had in the physical therapy department. My first appointment is _today_!"

"_That's great, honey_!" Jack says.

"It's not for another two hours, and then who knows how long the appointment itself will take, so I'll be home later than I planned."

"_So, what do you think your E.T.A. is_?" he asks.

"Maybe five-ish?" I say.

"Okay. I'll get dinner started while you're gone, then."

"All right," I say. "Thanks." I take a hesitant breath.

"Is there anything else?" he says, promptly.

Jack knows me too well. "There's some bad news, too," I say.

"_What is it_?" he says, instantly alert.

"Nothing's _wrong_," I hastily explain, "unless you count the corrupt prices hospitals charge the common man. The bad news is that I got the bill for the last two appointments."

I hear a sigh on the other end of the line – whether it's a sigh of relief or a sigh of frustration has yet to be determined. "_Honey_," he says, "_that's no problem. We can take care of that_."

_You_ can take care of it, I correct silently, biting my lip.

"_Renee_?" he says, when I don't reply after a minute.

"Yeah, okay," I say.

"_Trust me_."

"I do trust you."

"_Okay then_." All I hear is his even breathing for a moment, and then he says, "_I'll see you tonight. Love you_."

"Love you too, Jack."

* * *

"Okay, pull your arm straight out to the side." I grimace as Dr. Jacobsen guides my arm out, inadvertently stretching my chest muscles. He clucks. "Ooh. Those are tight. Take off your shirt, please."

I hesitate before stripping off the blouse. He gives me a patient smile. "I'm a married man, Ms. Walker," he says. "Faithfully and happily for twenty years. You have nothing to worry about."

My cheeks go hot. "I didn't mean to imply…"

He waves my apology away and starts to press around my wound. I suppose there's something therapists can tell by doing this that normal joes wouldn't understand, so I close my mouth and will myself to relax under his touch. Dr. Jacobsen's hands still after a moment. "I'm going to take off the bandage and press on the skin it covers," he says. "Gently. If you feel any pain, let me know." At my nod, he peels off the bandage and gets to work.

My wound only hurts a little bit with each press, until he gets to the center, where the blood clot is. I wince and instinctively try to pull away. "All right," he says, and his hands disappear from my body. "The good news is, you don't appear to be in terrible shape. If we go at this with a swift, carefully planned strategy. then I don't see why you won't be able to get back to one hundred percent."

"Good," I say, nodding again.

"Here's how this will work," he says. "We'll meet for appointments about twice a week for the first part of your treatment, which should be about a month. For the second part of your treatment, we'll drop down to once a week, and I'll give you some stretches and exercises to do at home. Are you living with or near someone that can help you perform more complicated exercises?"

Jack would jump at the chance. "Yes," I say.

"Wonderful. That will help me to better define your treatment and it will help you to get well better," Dr. Jacobsen says, pleased. "When we get to the third and final part of your treatment, you'll see me once every two weeks and have more exercises to do at home. At the end of the treatment, you should be much better, but if you aren't, you can either opt to continue treatment – here or elsewhere – or to discontinue it." He pauses. "You can, of course, opt to discontinue this treatment at any time, but I hope you won't. The muscle won't get better on its own, and you'd likely be in pain for the rest of your life."

"I'm not masochistic," I say. "I'll stick with the treatment."

"Some of the stretches may seem painful at first," he says warningly. "But it's important to keep doing something. If you need to modify them to start with, that's fine, but don't just _not_ do them. Many people I treat just give up when something gets painful. All that does is baby the wounded muscle, which won't help anything. They give up and then they wonder why they aren't getting any better."

"I have a pretty high tolerance for pain," I say. "I won't give up." I can't disappoint myself by ever giving up on myself again.

"I'm glad to hear it," Dr. Jacobsen says with a smile. "Do you have any questions for me? No? All right, then. I think we're done here. Go ahead and have Lynn make you an appointment for later this week."

"All right," I say. "Thank you, Dr. Jacobsen."

He inclines his head. "Have a good day, Ms. Walker."

* * *

It seems like not a soul is astir at the apartment complex. I walk up the stairs to the third level, feeling rather excited. My first physical therapy appointment! I'm actually getting there. I'm really turning myself around. I haven't smoked, I haven't destroyed my body. My wound's a little sore from the probing and mild stretching, but nothing like it _could_ be. And tomorrow, I'll put in a call to Taylor Defenses. Hopefully that position hasn't been filled…!

I pull out my key and insert it into the lock, and in my excitement I turn the knob almost before I have the door unlocked. "Jack?" I call as I step into the apartment. My eyes start to search for him. "The appointment was great. I –"

I stop. My gaze locks in place, and I remember to close my mouth just as I slowly pull the door the last couple of inches before it shuts completely. The latch clicking into place is the loudest sound in the room.

Jack sits on the couch, and he too is frozen. And on the other side of the couch is Audrey Raines.

* * *

Writer's Note: ...and then all is tense. Uh-oh! *ducks away from rotten tomatoes*


	31. Chapter 31

Writer's Note: I do these cliffhangers to drive ya'll crazy, which I suspect that you secretly love. XP

* * *

Audrey Raines. She was not unknown to me before I met Jack. I had read her obituary in The Washington Times, when she was believed to be killed in a car accident in China. And then I read the stories in the paper about how she had not, in fact, been killed, but taken hostage. The newspapers hadn't been privy to detailed information – like, how cruelly she was tortured, or how traumatized she was by the time she made it back into CTU's hands – but they did report her return, reprinting the photos of the car accident cover-up, presumably since they couldn't get inside the hospitals to take pictures of Audrey herself.

She was not unknown to me, and yet, I know so little about her. Half of me feels sorry for this woman, who went through incredible agony. The tiniest sliver of my attention feels approval that the only reason they were in a position to abduct her to begin with, is that she went to China to help Jack.

The rest of my mind has delved into a primitive mindset, in which I have identified Jack as my boyfriend, my mate, my lover, and Audrey as an undesired female presence. If I were a monkey, I would be jumping up and down and throwing whatever I could find, before beating Audrey off and proceeding to have…well, they call it "hot monkey sex" for a reason…to prove my ownership.

But I am not a monkey. I do not own Jack. And it is perfectly legal for him to talk with another woman. And if I jump up and down, throw things, and try to have crazy sex, _I'll_ be in the mental hospital next. Not to mention my body is still too frozen to really do much of anything at all, except stare.

Jack speaks first. "Renee?" he says.

My gaze slides over to him. "Yes?" I say, forcing my body to relax, so that maybe I don't look so frigid.

"This is Audrey Raines," he says, swallowing.

I know who she is. "Audrey," he continues, "this is Renee Walker."

Audrey gives me a timid smile. Shit. How can I think violent thoughts about this woman? It'd be like telling a six-year-old boy that Santa won't bring him any presents because he spilled the milk. "Hello," she says, somewhat hoarsely. She clears her throat and then says, "It's…um, it's nice to meet you."

I smile, somewhat tightly, back. "You too," is about all I can manage.

"Audrey dropped by for a visit," Jack says. "We've been catching up."

So, he told her we're together. That's something one would mention, right? You'd mention your granddaughter, your mended relationship with your daughter, and you'd mention your new girlfriend. Well. Maybe not. I don't know. "That's nice," I say, and I'm proud of the smooth tone I've managed to adopt. "I think I'll make some coffee. Would you like coffee?" I ask, looking between them. "I'm making coffee."

"No thank you," Audrey says, tripping over the word "no" for a moment.

Damn it if her vulnerability doesn't appeal to my softer nature. "Would you like something else?" I suggest, in a gentler tone.

"A glass of water, maybe?" she says.

"All right," I say. "Jack?"

"Coffee's fine. Thanks," he says.

"Decaf?"

"Please."

So, his nerves are as shot as mine. That's comforting…sort of. And in a way, not at all. I walk into the kitchen and start fixing the coffee. Silence creeps, making time seem slower. With the coffeemaker set, I grab a glass and fill it with water, and add a couple of ice cubes. Should I get her a straw? Does Audrey Raines use a straw with her iced water? Do I _care_ if Audrey Raines uses a straw with her iced water?

I carry out the water, go 'round the couch, and hand it to my boyfriend's ex-girlfriend. "Thank you," she says, and she hesitates before she takes a sip.

I feel very uncomfortable standing in front of them as they sit on the couch, but I can't very well sit between them. For one, the urge to escort Audrey to the door might prove irresistible. For another, that's quite close contact for strangers, and I don't know how she, especially, will react.

Jack finally seems to sense my discomfort. "Why don't we go into the kitchen?" he says.

We go into the kitchen in unspoken agreement and sit down at the table, Audrey and I across from each other and Jack between us on the side. I never contemplated what would happen if one of Jack's old flames showed up, but this is now how I would expect things to happen. Us just sitting here, exchanging looks and glances…

The other thing I never would have expected is how beautiful Audrey is. Her blonde hair curls around her shoulders, smooth and shiny. Her eyes are brown and clear, her skin flawless. Her cheekbones are high and well-defined, nose slender. God. I look down at the table. Her obituary picture didn't do her justice, and here she is, in our kitchen. Jack's ex, who is an ex through no fault or choice of her own or Jack's own.

"Is there a bathroom I could use?" Audrey asks, breaking the silence. When she doesn't stutter or trip over her words, she seems to speak in this continuingly soft voice, like she's in a library.

"Of course," Jack says, and he too speaks softly, in his gravelly manner. "Just down the hall on the right."

"Thank you." She gets up and walks down the hall. Her stride is smooth, unburdened. The only way you'd ever be able to tell she was ever traumatized is by the way she stiffly holds her shoulders. She disappears into the bathroom, flips on the light, and closes the door. It's so quiet that you can hear the click of the lock into place, and I wonder why she locked it – is it second-nature now, considering all she's been through, or is she scared of me? (I mean, she can't be scared of Jack.) I know it's probably the former, but damn if the idea that she's scared of me doesn't put my hair on end.

"We were just visiting," Jack says quietly. I look at him.

"I know," I say. I have no doubts that all they did was talk – and maybe hug, although Audrey still seems too nervous around others to allow even Jack that luxury.

"She's the one that called for me and then hung up," he says. "And she's why Chloe needed to talk to me, both times."

"I gathered as much," I say. The coffeemaker beeps, and we both get up to deal with it, but Jack hesitates, and then settles back down into his chair, tensely. "Black?" I ask. I grab the coffee mugs. I need something to do.

"Yes, please," Jack says.

I pour us coffee as Audrey comes back in. Both of us reclaim our seats, meeting each other's gaze as we ease down. I don't know what she's looking for in my expression, but I know what I'm looking for in hers.

Her gaze drops, and her mouth starts moving, as though she knows she wants to say something but can't find the words. Then she looks at Jack and smiles nervously. "I think I should go, now," she says, with a hint of a laugh. "It was good seeing you again, Jack."

Jack nods. "Likewise," he whispers.

Audrey's shoulders relax, and her lips curl into a longing smile. Their eyes stay connected for a brief moment, and then she shakes the gaze, and I get the answer to the question I was silently asking. "And it was, um, nice meeting you, Renee," she says. Her expression falls when she looks to me.

"It was nice meeting you too," I say, and I'm pretty sure it's a polite lie.

Jack gets up to show her to the door. I'm grateful for the moment alone. I press my fingers against my eyes, and then I rub them.

Audrey Raines is still in love with Jack. But is he still in love with her?

* * *

Audrey's unexpected visit meant that Jack didn't have dinner ready like he'd planned. Neither one of us is in any state of mind to cook, so I order Chinese delivery and join him at the table, in the same seats we were in before. The empty chair where she sat seems to mock me.

"You don't like that she visited," Jack says. It's not a question.

I open and close my mouth for a moment, and then I say, "I don't mind that she visited. I don't _like_ that she still loves you." Both Audrey and I found the answers to our questions a few minutes ago. I wanted to know if she was still in love with Jack, and she wanted to know if I was Jack's girlfriend. He obviously hadn't told her. Maybe it was too awkward. But I could tell she knew exactly what we are when her face fell upon meeting my gaze. (A gaze which I'm sure was not harsh or threatening in any way.)

"She's not in love with me," he says. "That was a long time ago. She's been in extensive care since she got back. She only just started living on her own again a few months ago. She's made…incredible progress."

I nod, but the action feels empty. "I see," I say. "Still…she loves you, Jack."

"She just came by to talk, Renee. That's it," he says, sounding frustrated. He gets up and refills his coffee. As his back is turned to me, he continues, "You can't imagine what she's been through. You can't imagine what_ I_ went through. She just came looking for a bit of…I don't know. Closure. Understanding. Or hell, is it so bad if she _missed_ me a little?" His voice is getting progressively agitated. He turns. "It doesn't mean she's still in love with me!"

"Jack, calm down," I say. "You're not on trial here, so drop the defensive attitude." Maybe I'm being harsh, but at this point, my nerves are too fried for me to care. "You said that nothing happened, and I believe you. But I'm telling you – she _wants_ something to happen."

"Oh really?" Jack says sarcastically, "and you know this because of the long time you've known her?"

I stand up. "I know this because I saw how she looked at you," I say. "Why are you denying what we both saw?" Or maybe he didn't really see it, because he was so wrapped up in the wonderful feeling of seeing her again that he didn't really notice much of anything. The thought makes my stomach flip over, but I close my eyes. Jack's more observant than that. He had to have noticed.

"Look, Renee," he says, rubbing his eyebrows. The hand falls to his side limply, and he stares at me. I see a very tired man that looks his age twice over. "Audrey and I didn't choose to part. The first meeting...it was bound to be awkward for all of us. But trust me, she's over me. Years of healing and trying to regain the life you lost will do that to you."

"She regained at least part of the life she lost," I say, "and then she started to remember you and imagine what it would be like to be with you again."

"Damn it, Renee! _What do you want from me_?" he shouts.

I feel a sense of déjà vu. Maybe I wasn't totally justified in the first argument that hosted those words, but I feel completely justified now. I stride forward. "I want to know that you love me more than you love her!"

At Jack's stunned expression, I step back. I search his eyes. "But…you don't…do you?" I whisper.

Jack's expression softens, and he comes forward and cups my cheeks. He brushes the hair out of my face, and he says, "Renee, when we met, I thought I was over her. I never allowed myself to think more than her name. I never let myself remember what it was like, being with someone…being with her. I didn't realize until today that I'm not over her. Not completely. But…" He pauses, for effect. "But," he says, "I _am_ completely in love with you. I swear."

I look into his blue eyes and I believe him. Mostly. But as he draws us closer and kisses me, my mind acknowledges that he never said, "Yes, I love you more than her."

* * *

Life can't stop because Audrey visited, so I forced myself to go into the office after dinner and type out an email to Ms. Taylor and one to Janice. The email to Ms. Taylor was easy. Hi, I've gotten into therapy, this is the plan for my treatment, is the job still open? The email to Janice was harder. I wanted so badly to report that everything's fantastic. I don't want her to worry about me, and I don't want her to think my life will fall to pieces again.

In the end, my email to Janice was short but honest. I mostly wrote about her pregnancy, and then I mentioned that my first therapy session went well. Audrey's visit only warranted a few short sentences. "_Audrey Raines visited this evening_," I wrote. "_It was strange…and awkward. I don't know what to think._"

I crawl into bed beside Jack, who stares at the ceiling somberly. He flinches when I touch his shoulders, but relaxes almost immediately when he realizes it's just me. "Sorry," he says, his gaze returning to the ceiling.

Guilt creeps in me. I've been so focused on how Audrey's visit has affected me, how it might affect me, that I haven't even stopped to consider how it was for Jack. Not only did he have to see her again, after being forced to leave her, but he's been thrust into some torturous memories, as well.

"_You can't imagine what she's been through. You can't imagine what I went through_." He was wrong, of course. I can imagine perfectly how awful the Chinese were. Like Jack, I've seen and done things most people can't imagine. Things I'm sure he couldn't imagine, even…

No. No sense in both of us going down torturous memory road. I click the lamp off and roll over onto my side, facing him. "Goodnight, Jack," I say. "I love you."

A breath later, he answers, "Goodnight, Renee. Love you, too."

* * *

_A Russian accent drawls, "You want to see the Red Square, no?"_

"_You know I do, Vladimir," I say, dropping my voice to a sexy murmur. _

"_You will have to prove you can handle it. The Red Square is not to be trifled with, Renee. You will be…how do they say it? 'Playing with the big boys.'" He twirls a knife between his fingers._

"_I can handle it, Vladimir," I say. _

_Vladimir smirks. "Very well. Prove it to me."_

_The room changes. Black walls. Granite flooring. There's nothing in the room but a chair in the center, a crimson chair with crimson chains. The door before us opens, and two of Vlad's men drag in a pleading man. His hair, the fairest of blond, flops over his face. He wears a business suit, blue with a green tie, and his thick Russian accent fills the room like a fearful melody as the men shove him in the chair and chain him in._

"_What's this?" I ask._

"_You said you could handle the Red Square," Vladimir says. He tosses the knife to me. "I told you to prove it to me. Now prove it. Torture him."_

_The man looks at me. I meet his eyes. They're blue. Beautiful. And terrified. "What has he done?" I ask. Maybe he was dirty. Maybe he was as bad as Vladimir. _

_Vladimir shrugs. "Nothing. He breathes, and that is all. Now torture him._

_Then I'm done, and the man is being resuscitated by the same men that chained him to that chair. Vladimir hands me a cigarette and lights one for himself. "This room used to be all white," he says, glancing around thoughtfully, pleased. "Do you know why we had to paint it?"_

"_Why?"_

_Vladimir flicks away ash. "It was too hard to clean the blood stains from the white walls," he says, laughing._

_The Zadan in me laughs, and I lift my cigarette to my lips with bloody hands._

I twitch awake. My heart races, and I sit up slowly.

It wasn't scary. It was…disturbing. Like Zadan was reawakening before my eyes, and I was asleep so I couldn't do anything to stop her.

I look over at Jack, who still sleeps without disturbance. God. For all the things he's done, he has _never_ tortured an innocent man, never hurt or killed when it wasn't necessary. What would he think of me, if I told him the things I did?

Maybe the things I did were necessary. I don't know. I didn't make those calls then – my superiors were the ones that said, "Do whatever it takes to get to Red Square." So I did. So maybe they were necessary.

But they were also in vain. I never touched Red Square. And twenty people suffered, by my hand, for it. Six of them didn't survive. One of them was a mother, whose dying breath was used to scream the name of her child, who cowered in the corner, sobbing.

If I hadn't been Renee Zadan, I would never have been able to do those things. If I had been Renee Walker, I would have hung myself. Or stabbed myself. Or slit myself. Or shot myself.

My superiors didn't know that getting to Red Square would cost so many innocent lives. They didn't know that I would spend a year in intensive therapy to piece back together the shatters of my soul and sanity, before I could even call myself a ghost of Renee Walker.

They didn't want to know.

* * *

That was the first time in a month that I remembered their screams. I had managed to hide away the memories before, when I was with the FBI, but Wilson's last laugh was the resurrection of those memories. Asshole. It was my fault, but he was the cause. Asshole.

I locked tight the memories of their faces and shoved them to the back of my mind, but even in the denial I was so accustomed to, I couldn't get back to sleep. I watched the sun rise, and then I woke Jack with a kiss, which deepened and deepened. And then I let him make love to me, let him awaken passion in me with every touch.

Jack kisses me, just above the swell of my breast, and chuckles. "Talk about good morning, huh?" he says, looking up.

The sparkle in his eye, the tilt of his grin, and the heaviness of his breathing all hit me in just the right way. My muscles sink even deeper into the mattress, and I smile back at him, and it's genuine. And I'm reminded of something.

That maybe even I deserve a second chance. Deserve life and love.

"I'm going to grab a shower," Jack says. "Care to join me?"

"Sure," I say, shaking my head as I chuckle.

Jack rolls over and grabs the edge of the nightstand as he pulls himself up. I study his hand – nimble, strong fingers, turning the slightest shade of white from the pressure. And close to his hand, on the nightstand, is his cell phone.

His cell phone. The calls. Chloe. Audrey.

My blissful moment fades into one of reality.

Maybe I deserve life and love. But will Audrey's apparition take the love away?

* * *

Writer's Note: I dunno, Renee, I dunno... :)


	32. Chapter 32

Writer's Note: Thank you to all who have been reviewing, both here and on some of my drabbles! :) Much obliged, much obliged.

* * *

I'm scrambling the eggs when the phone rings. Jack's closest, so he picks it up. "Hello?" he says. "…Who is this? …Oh, hi Janice." At that, my head turns so quickly that I get a crick in my neck. I rub it, wincing as he continues, "Congratulations on the baby. …All right. …Sure. Here she is." To me, he says, "It's Janice."

"I gathered." I give him a smile and put the phone to my ear. "Janice?"

"_Audrey Raines_?" she says, her tone flat.

Err… "Yeah…" I cover the speaker. "Could you watch the eggs, Jack?" I ask.

He nods and goes to the stove, and I make myself scarce. I don't speak again until I've locked myself in the office. "I'm back," I say to Janice. "Good morning to you, too."

"_Eh, sorry_," Janice says. "_I just read your email a minute ago. Audrey Raines visited? What did she want_?"

I recognize this tone from all the times she's lectured me about smoking. It's the "someone-or-something-dared-to-mess-with-my-friend-and-I'm-irritated-about-it" tone. I say, "To talk to Jack, about China, I guess."

"_But you don't really believe that_," Janice says. When I don't respond, she says, "_Renee, your email was vague about this, but I can tell you've got reservations, which means that gut of yours is throwing you big old warning signs._"

"I believe that she wanted to talk to Jack," I say. "I even believe that she might've been looking for closure. But I don't think that's the only thing she wants."

Janice is quiet for a moment. "Do you think they still love each other?" she asks gently.

"…I don't know," I say. "Well, I'm positive she still loves him. And Jack has admitted that he's not entirely over her. He said he's completely in love with me – those were his exact words, 'I am completely in love with you,' – but…Janice, I'm scared."

"_I'm sorry, Renee_," she says. Genuine empathy has replaced the flat tone.

I look down and swipe my hair behind my ear. "I haven't lost him yet," I say. I force myself to take on a stronger voice. "This could all be moot anyway. I might not lose him at all."

"_I know_," Janice says. "_I just wish you didn't have to go through this. I hope Jack doesn't intend to drag this out. He shouldn't see her again, or if he does, he needs to make it _very_ clear that he's taken. And if he's not willing to do that, he should leave you now, before he has a chance to hurt you more than he already has_."

I don't want to think about how much truth Janice's words hold – I especially don't want to think about him leaving me. "Let's not talk about me anymore," I say weakly. "How's the baby? And Rob?"

Janice's next words are spoken with such joy, and I'm happy to take a backseat in the conversation, to just listen to her talk about Rob and their upcoming baby and what plans they've got going. She brings me back into the conversation when she says, "_Rob wants to do the nursery yellow and I want to do it green. What do you think? Give us a little tie-breaker_?"

I smirk. "I think you should make your mother happy, and paint it pink."

* * *

I hang up the phone a few minutes later and join Jack at the table. He's already laid out a plate for me – eggs and toast, the eggs lightly peppered and the toast jellied, not buttered. It's bizarre how he gets these little likes of mine, when I haven't had eggs and toast at all in the month that I've known him.

"Thanks," I say, kissing his temple.

"You're welcome," he says. "How was Janice?"

"Good." I pick up the fork and start to delve into the eggs. "She's excited about the baby. They both are. Rob takes her to every class and appointment, even if he has to miss meetings or take time off."

"Good man," Jack says, nodding.

"Oh – and, this has nothing to do with Janice or her husband, but my next physical therapy appointment is on Friday," I say.

"Okay. Do you want some company?"

"No, that's okay," I say. "Dr. Jacobsen did say that there were some exercises you could help me with, though, later in the treatment."

"Anything."

I smile. "I knew you'd say that."

* * *

"Grandpa, look what Mommy got me!"

Teri runs forward, waving a pink box in her hand. It looks like a camera, one of those kiddie ones. I'm surprised they still make film cameras like that. This one has Barbie on it.

"Oh, wow, that's wonderful, sweetheart," Jack says, picking her up. "Are you a little photographer now?"

"Uh-huh!" Teri says. "I'm taking lotsa pictures."

"_Lotsa_ pictures?" he says.

"Yeah!"

"Hi Kim," I say, my gaze torn between Kim and the adorable scene.

"Hi, Renee." She hugs me warmly, and then turns to Jack. "Dad."

"Honey," he replies, hugging her sideways, awkwardly, since he's got a bundle of Teri situated on the opposite hip.

"Stephen couldn't make it tonight – there's some emergency at the hospital," she says. "Although, I guess emergencies and hospitals kind of go hand in hand."

"That's not a problem," Jack says. "Dinner will be ready in about five minutes."

I smile at Kim and hurry into the kitchen to stir the three-cheese pasta, pausing only long enough to stroke Jack's shoulder on my way. He smiles back at me only for a moment, and then Teri reclaims his attention.

Jack was the one that started dinner, but I'm happy enough to finish it up if it means he gets more time with his granddaughter. It seems to me like we see Kim and Teri all the time, but I know to Jack that there's never enough granddaughter time. I see the wistful look in his eyes when they wave goodbye, Kim leading or carrying Teri away.

Teri's laughter echoes in the kitchen. "Sit there!" I hear her say, in a total voice of commandment that somehow only a four-year-old can muster. I look over to see Jack sitting on the couch, and little Teri is hidden by the couch's backrest, but I know that she's posing her grandpa for pictures. "Sit next to him, Mommy!" Her voice lowers to a more pleading tone with Kim – it must be an instinctual thing. Adoring grandfathers can be commanded, but all mothers must be bargained with.

"Okay, sweetie," Kim says, the slight squeak of the couch accompanying her words. "We can do pictures now, but just a few. Dinner is almost ready."

"_Smile_, Mommy!" I hear the click and flash of the camera as I put down the pasta spoon and pick up a clean one to stir the green beans and carrots. "Now just Grandpa!" More rustling, more clicks. I chuckle. Jack Bauer's second profession: modeling.

"Renee, too!"

Whoops. "Renee's fixing dinner," I call. I have never been big on pictures – my school portraits were always goofy, with overbites or braces or bad hairdos or awkward smiles. I've only ever had one decent photo taken of me, and that was the one for my FBI I.D. and file. "Ugly duckling into a swan" definitely comes to mind.

Footsteps approach, and Kim plucks the spoon from my fingers. "No, I'll finish," she says.

"You can't," I protest weakly. "You're a guest…"

Kim's eyes flash and she laughs indignantly. "I am not a _guest_!" she says. "I'm _family_ – now go appease my daughter!"

Did she do that on purpose? Because if she did, she's as wily as her father. She said exactly the right thing to vanish any reservations or embarrassments. I have a family. It never really hit me until now.

I smile. "Okay." And then I go over and join Jack and Teri. She takes me by the hand and leads me to the couch. I sit where she points, just next to Jack, and he puts his arm around me.

"No!" she says. "Hold hands!"

Jack looks at me and sort of rolls his eyes, which is completely overlooked by the toddler. He takes my hand and we weave our fingers together.

"Smile!"

We smile obediently, and she snaps the picture. Color clouds my vision for a while, and I try to blink them away. Yet…this is fun. So this is what happens when you really learn to let go.

And this is what I stand to lose if Audrey somehow…god, this is cliché, but this is what I stand to lose if Audrey wins Jack back. I lose Jack _and_ Kim _and_ Teri.

My smile for Teri's next picture is a little stiffer.

I won't let that happen. I can't.

* * *

Kim settles Teri into a chair and tucks a napkin over her shirt. "So, anything new going on?" she asks.

My hand freezes with the fork halfway to my mouth. I look at Jack, who is staring at his plate, fork still quietly stabbing cheesy noodles. I blink, and then smile to cover up my hesitation. "I had my first physical therapy appointment yesterday," I say, and then shove the forkful of noodles into my mouth.

Kim still looks slightly bewildered at our reaction to her question, but she smiles back anyway. "That's great," she says. "How did it go?"

"Very well, I think."

"Kim, Audrey visited yesterday," Jack says. His gaze lifts from his plate to his daughter.

The air around the table tenses. Nobody's angry, it seems, but nobody is happy, either. Just…terse.

"Oh," Kim says lightly. Her expression conveys an array of conflicting emotions – confusion, mostly, and a touch of apprehension. Welcome to my world.

Teri looks between her grandpa and her mommy, and then leans toward me. "Renee?" she whispers.

I lean toward her. "Yeah?" I whisper back.

"Are Grandpa and Mommy going to fight?"

Kim snaps out of whatever emotional haze she was in, and relaxes for the sake of her daughter. "Of course not, baby," she says. "Eat your green beans."

"Mmmm…" she whines. "I don't like green beans."

"They're good for you."

Thank god for small children.

* * *

About half an hour after Kim leaves, the phone rings. "Hello?" I say.

"_Renee? It's Kim. Can I talk to my dad? I just forgot to tell him something._"

"Sure, Kim, hold on."

I pass the phone to Jack. He takes it and puts it to his ear. "Kim?" he says. "Is everything okay? …Okay. Yeah." He covers the mouthpiece. "Excuse me."

I nod and go back to my email. (I had brought Jack's laptop out to the kitchen earlier, so Kim could download pictures she wanted to give to us.) Janice and I have been emailing each other daily, now. It's so good to have her friendship again, including her support. It took me a while, but I've finally figured it out. She doesn't give unconditional support for everything I _do_, but she gives me her unconditional support. Does that make sense? It seems to, in my own little world.

My jeans pinch at the sides of my legs, and my bra starts to feel scratchy. I glance at the clock. Nine twenty-seven. I'm not remotely tired, but I feel up for the loose, soft cloth of pajamas, so I put the laptop on standby and go down the hall.

Jack's hushed, angry voice is muffled through the office door. It makes me pause for a fraction of a second. "_– your business, but no, I am not _leaving_ Renee._"

If I were a better person, I would not be eavesdropping on the one-sided phone call. Goddamnit. I shake my head and keep going until I reach the bedroom. Christ. I am not a paranoid, needy woman – so why am I acting like one?

I'm halfway undressed when Jack comes into the bedroom, rubbing his eyes, the phone in one hand. I can already assume what the call was about, so instead I ask, "Is everything all right?"

He sighs. "I'm just tired of having my loyalties questioned," he says.

"No one's questioning your loyalties, Jack." I pull the nightshirt over my head, and then step up to him, clad only in that nightshirt and my underwear. "Everyone that knows you _knows_ how loyal you are."

"Then why did my daughter just spend five minutes interrogating me about Audrey Raines?" he says, his face drawn into a scowl.

"I'm sure she was just concerned," I murmur.

"It's none of her business. It has nothing to do with her."

Kim's words come floating back to me. "_I am not a _guest!_ I'm _family!" I remember how I felt when she said that - like my heart was melting. "She cares about you," I say. "About us. Is that so horrible?"

"No, of course not. I just...I want my private life kept private. Is that too much to ask?" he says.

"You told Kim that Audrey visited," I point out. "You didn't have to. I wasn't going to say anything because I thought it was your choice. You chose to tell her, and she responded. She's only human, Jack."

"I don't want to hide things from her. Why can't I share what goes on without her prying?"

I smile, and put my hands on his chest, rubbing over the tee shirt he's wearing. "They coined the phrase, 'you can't have your cake and eat it, too,' for a reason."

Jack sighs and wraps his arms around me. "Renee?" he says, his mouth near my ear.

"Yes, Jack?"

"I'm _tired_."

Jack isn't one to share vulnerability lightly. I swallow. "Then come to bed," I say softly, tugging him back toward said bed. He follows willingly, and we climb in together. He brushes his lips against my forehead, switches off the light, and curls up with me. I listen to his steady breathing, feel the steady beating of his heart. We're mostly content - content to be with one another - but Audrey sits on the giant purple elephant in the corner of the room, watching us. Her reappearance in Jack's life - in our lives - would be easier if I could hate her, but I don't. I feel sorry for her. I haven't heard much of her, but what I have heard has been nothing but wonderful things, from various different sources over the last decade or so. What is it with me and Jack's exes? Frankly, I admire the late Teri Bauer, and now I don't even hate Audrey?

Well, I can rest assured that I will yearn to spill her guts if she entices Jack away from me.

...Somehow, that was not reassuring.

I curl closer to Jack and feel his arms tighten around me further. "I love you, Jack," I say, hoping that my voice isn't worried or annoyed or apprehensive - all of which I'm definitely feeling.

"Love you, too," he murmurs, already halfway asleep.

I close my eyes and will sleep to come. Don't they say things will look better in the morning?

I hope so.


	33. Chapter 33

Writer's Note: Wow! So many reviews! :D Thank you all! Now, please be warned - this chapter is heavily "feminine" themed. If that turns off the happy reader in your brain, you can skip it, but I strongly suggest reading the first 2 sections, and maybe the last one, which is the 4th one. The 3rd section is the most feminine and can be skipped without missing vital character development. Thank you! :D

* * *

Knocking startles me awake. I rub my eyes.

"You heard it too?" Jack says groggily.

"Yeah." It woke me in the middle of a dream. No big loss. I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, trying to figure out which corner of the world Jack was sitting in. He was waiting, and Audrey and I were both searching for him, and I had the sense that the first one to find him would be able to tie a pretty blue ribbon around him and take him home as a trophy.

"Wait here," he says. The grogginess is completely gone from his voice now, replaced by alertness and a tone of authority as he gets up. I smirk to myself as I watch his tense face come into focus in the darkness; sometimes he looks so sexy when he's being protectively controlling.

"Oh, Jack, you know better than that," I say regardless, pushing back the covers and getting up.

He glances to me, and then nods with reluctant acceptance. "Yeah, I guess I do," he says. The knocking persists, alternating between hard knocks and soft knocks, as though the knocker is unsure.

Jack and I go down the hall, and he gestures at me to stand back. Uh-huh. Whatever. I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. He peeks through the peephole, and a second later, he looks back, frowning.

"What is it?" Goddamnit, if it's Audrey Raines I'm going to sue fate. I may not currently hate her down to the last cell, but she is definitely off the list of top ten people I want to come a-knocking at some ungodly hour of the morning. (And believe me, that list is short.)

Jack pulls the door open to reveal pajama-clad Tania.

"_Tania?_" I say, shock filling me to the toes.

She shuffles on her feet as she holds herself awkwardly. "Can I come in?" she says. Her eyes are wide and watery. She's barely holding back the tears.

"Tania, honey, what's wrong?" I take her by the shoulder and tug her inside. She carries herself stiffly. She bites her lip. "Does your uncle know you're here?"

"No…"

"I'll call him," Jack says. "What's your number, sweetheart?"

"I'm not your sweetheart and please don't call him!" she snaps. Her voice has zero power to it, the last word leaving her lips on a whine. She turns back to me. "Please, I need to talk to you." She wipes her eyes before the tears can fall.

But I'm watching the way she stiffly holds herself, the almost-tears, and the slightly pained look on her face. I bend over so we're eye-to-eye. "Tania, did your uncle hurt you?" I ask firmly. My every first instinct says that Jeb would never hurt her, but she looks hurt, and she's out in the middle of the night, for god's sake. Something awful must have driven her here.

"No!" she exclaims. "Just…please, let me talk to you, Renee. I've never asked you for anything but I'm begging you now. I'm scared."

"You don't have to beg me, Tania," I say. I look to Jack. "Jack?"

He casts Tania a doubtful glance, but says, "I'll be in the bedroom if you need me." He kisses my temple and leaves.

"Why don't you come sit down," I say, leading her to the couch. "Do you want something? A Kleenex? A glass of water?"

She shakes her head, sniffing. "I can't sit down right now," she says in the most heart-wrenching upset voice.

My imagination is in overdrive. God, what happened? "Why?" I say. "What's wrong?" I take a flying chance and cup her cheek. It nearly floors me when she lets me.

"I'm bleeding," she whispers.

"Where?" I demand.

Tania takes a hesitant step back, and closes her eyes. A small tear escapes one of them and rolls down her cheek swiftly. She points. "Down there…"

She's pointing at her groin. Two possibilities flash before my eyes, but I can't help my sigh of relief. "Tania?" I ask gently. "Did someone…hurt you there?" I can't bring myself to come out and say, "Did someone rape you?"

She shakes her head, and my relief triples. "Oh thank god," I whisper to myself. In a louder voice, I say, "Okay. Tania, I want you to know, first of all, that there is absolutely nothing wrong. You're fine."

Looking at me like I grew three extra heads, she says, "What?"

"What's happening is natural." I sit down on the couch and beckon her forward. "Here, sit down," I coax.

"But…I'm bleeding. It'll get all over your couch."

"Blood can be wiped off, Tania. It's not that big of a deal," I say.

She sits next to me, wincing as her groin shifts. "This can't be natural," she says with a dry sob, shaking her head. "It hurts too much!"

"It sometimes does hurt," I say. "Sometimes it really, really hurts." Boy, do I know how _that_ is. "But it's your body's way of flushing its system. Without it, your body can't get ready to have a baby."

"_What?_"

I feel my own eyes widening in shock, mirroring hers, I imagine. Why doesn't she know about this? "You didn't have family life in fifth grade?" I ask. She stares. "Sex ed?"

Tania shakes her head slowly. "My dad would never sign the permission forms for anything," she says.

Holy mother of buckets. She doesn't know _anything_. She is completely, entirely, totally, ridiculously unprepared. Granted, most girls aren't completely prepared for the changes they encounter, but they've got a better foundation for it than she does.

Where to begin? This is going to be a long talk. Oh my god, I'm giving _the talk_. I've never given the talk.

Suddenly, she bursts into tears – she sobs without abandon, covering her face with her palms.

Well, now I feel like a jerk. Staring at her like it's her fault, like she's an idiot when she's not. I reach out and hug her close, my every protective instinct sparked alive. And she lets me. She lets me hold her, lets me rock her. She cries into my shoulder.

After a few minutes, she seems to calm down, but stays with her face hidden in my shoulder – hidden from embarrassment – embarrassment from the fact that she cried, and embarrassment from being scared enough to let me in way more than she ever has, I think. Gently, I pull her back.

I wipe the tears off her cheeks. Jack wiped my tears once. He was there for me. I'll be dead before I'm not here for Tania. The universe seems to be demanding what it gave in return for giving it in the first place – a system of balance I am honored to follow. "Why don't we do this," I say. She meets my eyes, and I see her as the tender, frightened girl that lurks beneath the tough, careless mask. "Let's wash your face, and then get the blood cleaned up." When I was a young girl, my mom always began a post-cry recovery with a cool, wet washcloth to the face. "I have supplies you can use until you get things of your own. I'll give you a quick explanation of what's going on. Then we'll call your uncle."

Tania seemed okay with everything until I mentioned her uncle. "No!" she protests. "He's going to be so maaad." She buries her eyes in her palms, a groan of frustration escaping her lips.

"And he's going to be scared _shitless_ if he wakes up and you're not there," I say. I probably shouldn't swear in front of her, but my blunt tone and language seem to have conveyed the seriousness.

"You really think so?" she says.

"I know so."

Reluctantly, she nods. Then I continue. "And lastly, once I've called your uncle, I'll take you home. And then later, at some time when it's not so late –"

"Three in the morning…" she mumbles.

"Exactly," I say. "At some time when it's not three a.m., we can sit down and we can talk about it some more. I'll answer whatever questions you have. That is, if you want to ask them…"

Tania snorts. "Yeah, and who am I gonna ask? Uncle Jeb?"

I smile weakly. "Men can be quite knowledgeable about the subject, you know – if they stop blushing, stammering, or 'la-la-la'ing long enough to explain things."

She giggles on a hiccup. I hold out my hand. "Ready to get cleaned up?" I say. Nodding, she swallows and takes my hand. I lead her down the hall to the guest bathroom. "I'm going to go get the supplies. I'm going to be right back, okay?" She nods. "In the meantime, go ahead and pull off your pants and underwear. Sit on the toilet and use the toilet paper to wipe yourself down, then go ahead and flush it."

"Okay." I turn to leave, and her voice stops me. "Renee?" she says.

I turn in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Thanks." The corners of her lips are pulled downward in a frown. She's one unhappy girl, but I sense real, genuine gratitude in that expression.

I smile. "Anytime," I murmur, and I quietly close the door behind me.

* * *

Jack looks up from the bed as I reenter the bedroom. He stands and meets my eyes, his head tilting just slightly. I say, "It's nothing to worry about. It's…a _girl_ thing."

"A girl thing," he repeats.

I nod. "Her father never let her take a sex ed course, so it really freaked her out. Understandably."

"Oh." An uncomfortable word spoken uncomfortably. I explain the plan Tania and I agreed upon. "That sounds reasonable," he says.

"Yeah." I smile tiredly. "I'm going to go get supplies."

"Supplies?"

"You know," I say, pointedly.

"Oh. Right." He shrugs and nods. "Do you want me to go with you when you take her back to her apartment?"

I'm about to wave it away with one of those "no, it's okay, I got it" excuses…and then I stop. I really would like some company, some adult support, when I hand the girl off to her uncle. "That would be nice," I say. "Thank you."

Jack smiles back. "Okay, then."

* * *

"Is it safe to come in?" I ask, knocking on the bathroom door softly.

Frantic shuffling. "Uh-huh," I finally hear. I open the door cautiously.

Tania sits on the toiler, her pajama pants crumpled in a pile on the floor. She stretches her shirt over her groin in a last-ditch effort to be modest without being uncomfortable in sticky, wet pants.

I shove the shower curtains aside and sit on the edge of the tub. I place the boxes on my lap. "When…when you enter puberty, around twelve or thirteen, your body begins changing to become a sexually mature adult. In a nutshell, you've started a menstrual cycle, which prepares the body for having babies."

Tania slowly turns beet red and tugs her shirt even farther down. "Why am I _bleeding_?"

"By the end of the menstrual cycle, which is about monthly, if you aren't pregnant, your body bleeds to flush out your reproductive system so it can prepare for the next month."

She seems to mentally file this away. "Why does it _hurt_?" she asks next, emphatically.

"That's a little more complicated than we have time for tonight," I say.

"You said earlier that sometimes it hurts a lot."

"It's true," I admit. "You'll have to talk to your uncle about what kind of painkillers you can take. There's a large variety of medications that will help with the pain."

"Do you have something I can take now?" she says.

I shake my head. "No, I can't give you anything," I say. "That's for your uncle to determine. If something simple like Tylenol doesn't work, then we can talk with your uncle together, about what the options are."

She sighs, rubbing her eyes. "What are those?" she asks.

"These are the supplies I was talking about," I say. "Feminine hygiene products. More commonly known as pads and tampons."

I take out a pad and show her how to put it on. I pull out a tampon and explain it, too, but I don't let her try it – mine are far too large for a twelve-year-old's body. She puts the pad over her bloody underwear. I would have loaned her a pair of my underwear, but she's so young. It wouldn't fit and she probably would feel less uncomfortable in her own intimates, even if it is bloody.

I avert my eyes as she pulls up her underwear, and then give her several more pads. "Are you ready to call your uncle?" I ask.

"Not really." She yawns. "But I'm tired."

"Let's go, then."

I put a hand on her shoulder, and we walk out of the bathroom together.

* * *

After ten minutes of conversation with the instantly frantic Uncle Jeb, I loan Tania a pair of pajama shorts – far less intimate than underwear – because she didn't want to put on her own bloodied pants. Then Jack and I walk her to her own apartment.

Jeb is waiting in the open doorway, and he rushes forward and grabs Tania, hugging her to his chest, not minding the bloody pants bundled in her arms. "You are _so_ lucky that Renee explained everything, missy, because if she hadn't, I would have tanned your hide for scaring me like that."

Tania shifts guiltily. "You didn't call the cops or anything, did you?"

"No. She woke me up," he admits. "But the three minutes it took for her to explain that you're okay were the three scariest minutes of my life. I nearly had a heart attack. Do you want me to have a heart attack, young lady?"

"No, Uncle Jeb." She said it sulkily, but there's a small hint of a smile on her lips.

He sighs. "Okay. You're not in trouble, because this was an embarrassing and frightening situation, but _don't do it again_, Tania. If you need to talk to Renee, you _will_ wait until morning. The 'I just entered womanhood' card only works _once_."

"Yes, Uncle Jeb."

Jeb's expression softens even further. "Now," he says gently, "I want you to know that you can tell me anything. But, if you feel that you need to talk to another lady, that's okay – _as long as_ it doesn't involve sneaking out in the middle of the night."

"Yes, Uncle Jeb."

Jeb sighs again. "Go to bed, you," he says, patting the back of her head lovingly. She squeezes by him, and with one last glance back, she disappears into the apartment. Jeb steps forward and takes my hands. "Darling, thank you," he says. He kisses my hands three times, theatrically. "You're an angel."

I shrug, smiling embarrassedly. "It was nothing," I say.

Jeb says goodnight to Jack and I, and then the two of us walk back. As the door closed behind Jeb, Jack says, "You're wrong."

Quirking an eyebrow, puzzled, I say. "About what?"

"That wasn't nothing. It was kind of extraordinary."

I blush, but feel very proud and loved as he wraps an arm around me and takes me home.


	34. Chapter 34

Writer's Note: There's a poll on my author's page. :) I just wanted to take a consensus of how people are feeling right now. If you don't want to vote, that's fine, but I'll be much obliged if you do. Thank you all for continuing to read and review!

* * *

As if Tania's panic over her first period had reminded my body that it had something it needed to do, I wake up around half past eight to a beautiful Wednesday morning with soaked panties. I can feel them, gross and wet and sticky. "Nnnnngh," I groan. I bury my face in my pillow for a moment. I'll bet the sheets are bloodied, too.

"You okay?" Jack mumbles.

I look up. His eyes are just barely starting to blink open. "Yeah," I say. I lean over and kiss his forehead. "I'll be right back." I get up. Ugh. Yes, Walker, you did bloody the sheets. I sigh. There was nothing I could do to stop it, so there's no point in crying over it. I don't like it, though, because Jack shouldn't have to sleep in bloody sheets, even if the blood is on my side.

I go to the bathroom, clean up and change. As an afterthought, I take a couple of Advil, since I can feel the cramps starting to work in my lower abs, very faintly.

Filing a mental note to change the sheets later on, I cover the spot with the blanket. A little bit of bleach and soap will get the stains out.

Well, this feels better. I crawl over the blanket and stretch out next to Jack, my head propped up on the pillow. He watches me, open and honest and quiet. I brush the back of my knuckles over his cheek – his cheek, his temple, his jaw – and then I brush the pads of my fingers over his bottom lip. His mouth opens, just slightly, in response, and I have to lean in and kiss it.

Jack kisses me back. It's amazing how things like morning breath, which would bother me from anyone else, just ceases to exist when I feel his lips on mine, his tongue stroking mine. Mmm.

"Good morning," he murmurs against my mouth.

"Morning." I smile, and feel his lips smile back.

"I'll be right back." He rolls over and sits up, shoving the blankets aside. He's shirtless. I watch him go into the bathroom, the click of the door audible. I close my eyes and lay flat on my stomach, my head cushioned on the pillow. God, I'm sleepy. It used to be that I'd sleep four or five hours a night, and then gogogo nonstop all day. I could get used to the more moderate way of life, though.

Minutes later, I feel a soft hand on my lower back. I don't open my eyes. I don't need to. I just smile. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." The smile I know he has is accompanied by his trademarked huff. His thumb traces small circles on me. "Your muscles are tight," he comments.

"Mmm."

"You okay?"

"Just as okay as I usually am, I suppose," I say. His whole hand starts moving firmly. I moan. His credentials are amazing: Patriotic protector, grandfather, model, masseur.

"Good?"

"Great…"

"Good." Jack sits on the bed and continues rubbing.

After a while, he lies down beside me, hand still rubbing, but he stops when I crawl closer to him. We lay together, my head on his chest, my arm around his waist, and his arm hugging my back.

People that don't know Jack – people like the McAllen parents – they don't even bother to imagine him like this. They only think about the bad. But there's a whole other side to him – the side that cuddles, that kisses, that rubs your sore back, that is always there for you.

Their loss.

* * *

When the phone rings around noon, the person on the other end nearly floors me. "_Ms. Walker_?" Ms. Taylor says.

"Yes, ma'am?" I say, suddenly very still. From the corner of my eye, I can see Jack's eyebrows rise, as he looks up from the paper without moving his head.

"_I'm calling about the job position. Are you still interested?_"

"Yes, I am."

"_Good. I contacted the FBI about your job history._"

"Oh?" I say.

"_They put me in touch with one of your old colleagues. She said, and I quote – because she told me to – 'Renee Walker is rash and occasionally far too stupid for that brain of hers, and you'd be a fool not to hire her. She has more integrity, conviction, and heart than the whole city of Los Angeles has in its metaphorical pinkie finger._'"

I suppose it is possible to be insulted and flattered at the same time, although I hardly have room to complain – the last time I worked with Janice, I was worse than rash, and yeah, I've done some incredibly stupid things. But her praise is warming and I feel a flutter of gratitude towards her.

"_Do you have any comments about her judgment_?" Ms. Taylor asks.

"Janice's judgment is solid, Ms. Taylor." And truthful. Very truthful. She and Jack have more in common than she realizes: they're both honest, caring people. Oh god, I better not tell her – she'll disown me, ha!

"_Come in Monday morning, at one o'clock sharp. I'll test your skills then, but even if you're not up for teaching, I'll put you in the office and have you do paperwork instead_."

"Okay," I say. "…The 'rash and occasionally far too stupid' part didn't bother you?" Whoa, what? What the hell am I saying? Forget what I said – hire me!

"_Ms. Walker, I decided I was going to hire you before I ever called Mrs. Jackson-Gold_," Ms. Taylor says frankly. "_I find that my own instincts often tell me far more than any former employer does. One o'clock sharp, Ms. Walker_."

"Yes, ma'am," I say, grinning.

"_Have a good day_."

The dial tone sounds in my ear before I can reply. I grin, hanging the phone up. Oh, I am going to _like_ working for her.

* * *

Jack takes me out to dinner later, to celebrate. "Of course we're celebrating," he says firmly, guiding me out the door. "You've been dying for this position!"

"I'm going to remember this when your birthday rolls around," I say.

"Threats will get you nowhere, Ms. Walker," he says, smirking at me.

"That wasn't a threat, Mr. Bauer – it was a promise," I say, prodding him with my elbow.

"I love it when you get riled like this," he says in my ear, and he traces my ear with his tongue quickly, like a viper strike, and then he's straight and proper, except for that tiny smirk.

"Behave yourself, Mr. I'll-Break-a-Million-Laws-but-I-Won't-Have-Sex-in-Public."

"What're you going to do about it – punish me?" he asks softly, his voice husky.

Oh, _boy_. The Advil has controlled my cramps, which means that my body is free to be aroused – which his suggestive comments are well on their way to doing. I've done a few kinky things in my life, but I've never asked Jack to do any kind of BDSM. I always thought that he wouldn't be receptive to it – and who would blame him, with his experiences of torture?

"If you want me to," I say. I try to keep my tone neutral and light, but I can see by his expression that I haven't succeeded.

"I'm sorry," he chuckles. "I'll behave."

* * *

The restaurant Jack chose was a nice one – not swanky, but not fast-food either. There's a bar and a dance floor, and the DJ strikes up a swingy tune. Jack reaches across our empty plates and tales my hand. "C'mon," he says, nodding at the dance floor.

I raise my eyebrows and let him lead me over. "I didn't know you could dance, Jack," I say. His hand is warm on my waist, and the other one grasps my hand tenderly.

"There are a few things I'm sure you don't know about me," he says, smiling.

"Oh? Such as?"

He twirls me, and it surprises me so much that I start laughing, and before I know it, he has me right back where I was. "Let's keep the mystery alive, shall we?"

"Whatever you say," I reply, rolling my eyes.

In response, Jack quirks an eyebrow at me, and then dips me. I chuckle, and he lifts me back up. In the low lights of the dance floor, his eyes almost seem to darken by several shades, turning a royal blue instead of sky blue.

The dance floor isn't that crowded. The women are mostly in skirts or dresses, and it almost makes me self-conscious – me, in my jeans and a blouse – but looking into his eyes, I know there's only one person to please, and Jack loves me regardless of what I'm wearing.

The DJ commands the music to a slower, sweeter tune. Jack and I move together in unison, meeting each other halfway as our bodies meet. I lay my head on his shoulder, and he tightens his arm around me.

Perfect.

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jack asks on the way home, when my cramps have caught up with me. The L.A. night scene is bright outside the taxi windows, the lights all streaming together.

"Mmm-hmm," I say, smiling. I can't let anything ruin this night – not even cramps. I'll just slip into the bathroom and pop an Advil or two when we get home.

"Okay." But he keeps watching me. "You're tense," he says.

"I'm fine," I say. I put a hand on his thigh. "Trust me."

"Okay," he says again. He puts his hand over mine, and I turn mine over under his so our palms clasp.

We make the uneventful walk from the curb up to the apartment. Jack opens the door for me. I step inside, and head for the kitchen to turn some lights on, while he hangs up his light jacket. "I'll be back in a moment," I say, excusing myself to go to the bathroom. He nods, and empties his pocket of his phone and his wallet.

I take care of my business of peeing and washing and medicating. I'm about to go back out, when I decide at the last second to change into pajamas. Then I walk down the hall, and I'm transfixed by the change.

The lights are back off, except for the microwave light, which has been set on low. Candles line just about every flat surface in the kitchen and living room. "Oh, Jack! Where did you get the candles? When did you get the candles?"

Jack steps forward. Shadows and candlelight mingle over his face. "I have my ways," he teases.

"Do you, now?"

He runs his palms over my hips and waist. "Mmm-hmm."

His effort feels wasted on me. I bite my lip as a cramp stabs at my groin in its last ditch efforts to fight the Advil off. "Oh, Jack…" I say. The disappointment in my voice annoys me. "This is great, but…I'm not sure I'm up for…"

"Sex?" he finishes.

"Yeah."

"We're not going to have sex." He kisses my eyebrow. "We're going to sit on the couch, have a little wine, and…" His lips hover over mine. "Maybe kiss a little."

"The couch?" I say, stiffening a little. Dim lighting, leather couch…

Jack stares at me for a moment, and then his eyes go wide. "Oh, god, Renee, I'm sorry…I…"

"No. No, you know what?" I say, smiling, albeit nervously. "I don't want to spend my life freaked out by intimacy on a couch. Screw my memories – I should do it wherever we want. Besides, it's just kissing."

"Are you sure?" Jack asks, taking my hand.

"I'm sure."

He smiles. "Okay, then," he murmurs. He leads me over to the couch. "Wait here," he says. I sit down on the couch, near the far left side. "I'll get us that wine."

"How did you know?" I ask.

Glasses clink together as he pulls them down. "Know what?" he asks, playing dumb.

"That I'm on my period. That I don't feel like making love, as much as I enjoy it."

He comes back moments later with two wineglasses half-full with dark red liquid. "A few different things," he admits, handing me one as he sits down. "This morning, you laid on your stomach instead of your back, and the only time you've done that without being half on top of me was your last period. Your back muscles were stiff. You didn't have coffee this morning. And you were really quiet on the way home."

"Wow," I say.

He clinks his glass against mine, and I smile, taking a sip of the wine. He does a same, and licks a stray drop from his lips. "Let's take this slow," he says, shifting closer, "and if you start having any flashbacks, let me know. I'll stop the moment you say so."

Slow is good. Slow is perfect. The last bit of intimacy I ever had on a couch was fast, fast and careless. "Okay," I murmur as his lips press to my lips.

Jack kisses me sensually, and as slow as he promised. Tongue, lips, in, out, over. He sometimes pauses to give special attention to my upper lip, then dips down for the lower one. And also as he promised, he doesn't go any farther than the kiss – the only parts of his body touching mine are his lips, and one hand that crossed over my lap to hold onto my hip.

The memory of Vladimir lurks in the back of my mind, but Jack's kisses are so uniquely him, anchoring me to reality. After several minutes, I moan and really relax into the kiss.

Jack pulls back. His breath mingles with mine. "All good?" he asks.

"All perfect," I say.

"Wine?"

"Sure."

We drink some more of the wine, if for no other reason than to compose ourselves. The fact that I'm not freaking out like I always thought I would is making me giddy – or is that the wine?

Oh, forget the wine. I take our glasses and put them on the floor, then put my hands on his face and pull him back to me. I can't remember when I ever just sat down and kissed someone, really just kissed them. And by candlelight, no less.

The phone starts to ring. There isn't any hesitation in either of us; we've already silently agreed to ignore it. This is for us, our time, our moment. Realistically, I'm sure we'll have many more moments, but –

_Beep_. "_Jack? This is Audrey._"

Jack freezes. Our lips slowly part, and we stare at each other.

"_I guess you're either busy or out of the house… I just, um…I was wondering if maybe we would get together sometime. It was great seeing you again…I...I'll talk to you later_."

_Beep_.

* * *

Writer's Note: Fate is a fickle mistress, is she not? I think she and Murphy get together just to drive us all nuts. :) Till next chapter.


	35. Chapter 35

Writer's Note: Thank you all for your reviews. :)

* * *

I exhale slowly. I hadn't realized it, but I'd been holding my breath ever since the first beep of the answering machine. "Renee?" Jack asks.

"…Yeah?" I say, looking into his eyes.

"Say something."

I swallow, and adjust myself so that I'm sitting straight forward with my back against the backrest. The little bit of distance feels disconcerting, although not as disconcerting as the phone call. "What do you want me to say, Jack?"

"Are you upset with me?"

I look over at him, and his brow is furrowed. "Why would I be upset with you? Why would I be upset at all?"

"You look upset," he says flatly.

"I can't help how I look, Jack. But I'm not upset with you. Or her. Neither one of you did anything wrong." So why do I feel so chilled, like a wall just erected itself between us?

"So you say." He puts his hand over mine.

"You don't believe me."

Jack smiles. "No, not really."

I huff, but I have to smile back a little. I turn my hand over under his so that we're holding hands.

"I'm going to call her back," he says.

"You should," I say. Nothing was ever solved by ignoring it. Usually. Plus, it'd be rude…and mean…

"But, I'm not sure what to say to her."

"It's simple, Jack," I say with a sigh. "You either want to get together with her, or you don't."

"Will it bother you if I do?"

The gut reaction says yes, but I don't want to say that. There's nothing wrong with getting a cup of coffee with a…friend…even if that friend happens to be an ex-girlfriend…who happens to still be in love with you…Ugh. No. Bad Walker. When did I get so paranoid? "I think you should do whatever feels right to you," I answer. "If you want to meet with her, then yes, you should."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"Jack. Please don't."

"Don't what? Don't respect your wishes? Don't ask after your wishes so that I can respect them?"

I take my hand back and rub my face. "Look, Jack, I'm not a saint. Her reappearance is troubling at best and I'm trying to deal with it the best that I can, and that includes not being controlling or jealous."

"You don't think it's weird for me, too?" Jack says. "I haven't so much as spoken to her in years. And now…" He sighs.

"Do you _want_ to see her?" I ask softly.

Jack looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap, and then he looks back up at me. "I need to," he says. "For…for both our sakes."

"Okay, then."

* * *

Jack picks up the phone while I get breakfast started, and gives me a hesitant glance before he presses a button and puts the speaker to his ear. I give him a half smile and shove the eggs around in the pan.

"Audrey?" he says after a moment. "Is this a bad time?"

Oh, wow. Look at that. I never realized eggs could be so fascinating. Why doesn't he take that call to another room? It's not that I hate hearing him talk to her…it's just awkward. And I'm sure they don't want or need me to be a third wheel in their conversation. These eggs are sure taking a long time to scramble. Maybe if I nudge the heat up a bit…

"Yeah. I understand... I'm retired, so tell me when…Okay. That sounds good… I'll see you then? …You too. Bye."

That was…somewhat anticlimactic. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. "I'm meeting her later today for lunch," he says quietly.

"Okay," I say. The eggs bubble and gurgle in the pan, and I shove them around again. They're starting to scramble.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

I'm not sure of anything. "I'm as sure as I'll ever be," I say. I turn my head and kiss his cheek. He turns his head so our lips meet.

"Do you want help with breakfast?" he asks.

"I'm almost done. Go ahead and have a seat. I'll bring it over in a minute."

"Okay." He kisses my temple and does as I ask.

Vladimir, the sexist asshole, often had me preparing his food, serving him, serving his buddies…The only time I wasn't in a subservient role was when I was torturing someone. But…there's something different in serving Jack. It has to do, largely, with Jack being my non-sexist asshole boyfriend. It's probably also in part due to the fact that Jack has helped me on a number of occasions – moving furniture, cooking meals, bandaging me…

When the eggs are done, I put slices of toast onto plates and scoop decent servings of eggs next to them. "What do you want to drink?" I ask, bringing the plates over. "I think we have some orange juice left, but there's also milk and coffee."

"Coffee, please," he says.

"I should have known," I say teasingly.

"Hey_, I'm_ not the coffee junkie, java queen," he says.

"Touché." It's amazing. One minute things are tense and awkward, and the next I'm starting a natural, cheerful banter.

"This looks great, honey."

"Good."

He smiles at me, and I feel my stomach flip over, just like it used to do whenever he gave me that particular smile. It feels nice.

* * *

Jack went off to meet Audrey for lunch ten minutes ago. I feel strange sitting around, wondering where they're meeting and what they'll talk about. There are dozens of guesses I could make that are likely to be accurate, but I don't want to dwell on any of them. It's none of my business what they talk about, and obsessing over it is only going to drive me insane.

I grab my key and a light sweater, since it's one of those freaky spring days where instead of blazing heat, we have cool breezes and overcast skies. Hey Jack, isn't L.A. supposed to be hot all the time? I smile to myself as I close the door behind me.

I'm halfway toward the stairs when I realize that I have no idea what I'm going to do. I'm not especially hungry, and I don't need to be going out to eat anyway, when we have a kitchen full of food. I know very little of the city, and…I don't know anyone here. Well, I know Kim and her family, but that's not the same. Besides, they're working. My only friend is in D.C., and she's working, too.

It hits me. I'm so lonely.

I never felt lonely. I felt heart-wrenching grief when my dad died, and then I felt duty when I had to step up and help my mom out. I felt a numb, endless self-hatred when I came back from Russia, and a mix of terror and hatred every time I looked at Vladimir. And after I tortured Wilson, I felt nothing but this dead weight of a desire to just not exist anymore. I felt something akin to grief the night Teri was kidnapped, but not loneliness; every other painful emotion had completely overridden loneliness.

I grasp the rail, and slowly, I smile.

It's good to feel lonely.

* * *

I end up going to the park. I remember where we had the picnic. I remember where Jack and I made out like teenagers. (And acting like you're sixteen is indefinitely better than being sixteen.) I sit under the shade of that tree, my back resting against the trunk, and watch the park around me. There aren't a lot of people. The playground in the distance is rather busy, visited by at-home mothers and their children, no doubt.

Suddenly, I hear barking and shouting, and I look to my right. A huge dog is bounding toward me in a choppy gait, tongue hanging out, whining as he comes. A man is chasing him, shouting, "Barley! Barley!"

The dog alarms me, but I don't have enough time to get up. Before I know it, the dog has one paw between my knees and the other on my thigh – and he's licking me. Not cute little "puppy kisses" but giant slobbers with a giant tongue.

"Hey, there," I say. I push him off, though not without quite a bit of effort. He stands there, his whole rear wagging along with his tail. He sweeps his pointed ears back and whines.

"I'm _so_ sorry," the man says, finally catching up to his misbehaving dog. He grabs his dog by the collar and hauls him to the side, clipping the leash back on. "_Bad_ Barley. _Bad _dog."

But the dog is so damned pleased with himself for meeting a new person that he just keeps wagging and grinning that doggy grin. "He looks _very_ chastised," I say, chuckling as I wipe dog slobber from my cheeks, lips and nose.

"Yeah, who am I kidding?" The man rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry. He's not the brightest or most obedient –" He glares down at his happy animal. "– but he's lovable."

"I gathered!"

"You're okay, right?" he says. "I mean, he obviously didn't drown you in slobber, but I gotta ask."

"I'm fine," I say, nodding. I readjust myself against the trunk so I'm sitting more comfortably. "He's a nice dog. Just a little overwhelming."

"Sit. Sit. I said, _sit_."

"I am sitting!" I joke.

The man winces at my bad joke. "Barley, sit," he says, wrinkling his nose at me. The dog finally sits, and he kneels down beside it. "Um, well, a dog is a great judge of character." His eyes meet mine. "Do you want to go out sometime?"

"Oh." I feel the atmosphere go very awkward. "I'm…I'm flattered, really. But I'm seeing one." This is one of those times when a ring would be handy – whoa, _what_ did I just think?

"Oh." The man lets go of his dog and stands up. "Well, uh…in that case, _I_ am very embarrassed."

"No, please don't be," I say. "You seem like a nice guy…it's just that I'm…" I can't seem to find the words. Jack's image appears in my mind's eye, just over the man's shoulder. I smile, and close my eyes briefly before meeting his again.

"Yeah…I get it," he says. He looks almost angry for a moment, then sighs and smiles back. "I hope you're happy."

Most people say that phrase with contempt, in anger at someone for doing something wrong or mean. But he says it sincerely. "I am," I say.

He nods and gives me a wave before walking away, dragging his dog along by the leash. Barley whines agitatedly at being torn away from the person he wanted to visit, but after ten seconds his attention is thoroughly grabbed by a drinking fountain.

I consider saying something like, "I hope you find someone," or, "Don't worry, the girl for you is waiting somewhere," but I decide against it. I know from experience – mostly in my college years – that those kinds of words are little to no consolation. Especially when they come from "one of them." (That is, the "happily coupled" people.)

I set my head back against the trunk and close my eyes.

* * *

I close the door behind me. "Hey," I say.

Jack's standing about five feet from the door. "Hey." He smiles, but the smile fades. "You didn't leave a note."

I raise an eyebrow. "I just went to the park, Jack."

"I was worried."

My other eyebrow rises to match the first one. "I can take care of myself, Jack. You of all people should know that." And this time, my arm isn't even in a sling. And it's daylight. "I'm not Audrey, Jack."

I'm alarmed when anger flashes in his eyes. "Do _not_ talk about her like that, Renee."

"Jack?" I say, my eyes widening.

"You have no idea how strong she is. None. She went through hell over there and survived it, and then regained her sanity. She is _strong_."

What? I know that. Oh…ugh. When will I learn to either be very specific or to keep my mouth shut? "I didn't mean to insinuate that she isn't," I say calmly. "I know she's strong." It's possible that she could be stronger than I am. Maybe. It's not really possible to determine that, though. You can take two of the finest restaurants in the world and measure them up to choose which is best, but you can't do that with people. "I only meant that she's probably not very skilled in terms of self-defense – judo, karate..."

"You don't know that."

I level a look at him. I'm willing to acknowledge Audrey's finer points, but she's not perfect. No one is. "But I'm right, aren't I?"

Gradually, his mood shifts down. He rubs his cheeks and chin. "Yeah."

I step up to him and kiss the corner of his mouth. "I think you sometimes forget that you're not the only one that's good at reading people," I murmur.

"And I think that you sometimes forget that I care about her," he says.

I can't deny that hurt. I close my eyes and step back. He's wrong. I'm thoroughly aware of it.

Two curled fingers suddenly tip my chin up. I open my eyes to find his blue ones so close to mine. "I'm sorry," he says. His lips hover over my mouth.

I want to say, "You should be," but I guess I kind of asked for it. I part my lips, and my eyes close as he presses his lips firmly against mine.

* * *

Writer's Note: Gosh darn those two. So bad at communication. XD The poll's up again, because like a blonde (which…I guess I am… XD) I deleted it when I didn't want to. I'll leave it up for a week or so, maybe longer, depending on how things go. Hope you liked this chapter. :)


	36. Chapter 36

"A little farther…is it at the point of tightness?" asks Dr. Jacobsen.

"Yeah…" I lean forward a little bit more and hiss.

He pulls me back with one hand flat beneath my collarbone. "Not too far, Ms. Walker. We don't want you to aggravate the injury."

"Aren't we already aggravating it?" I say.

"No, we're nurturing the muscle by refusing to baby it. But there's a difference between not babying a muscle and pushing a muscle too far." He gives me a pointed look from behind his glasses.

"Right. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Just remember that you can't accelerate this process beyond its natural momentum." He lets go of my arm and writes something on his clipboard.

"I'm not the most patient person in the world," I say, rotating my shoulder experimentally.

"No, I don't believe you are. But you do seem to be a very practical person. Simply allow that aspect of your personality to overrun your impatience – at least in this area." He smiles at me.

"Easier said than done, Dr. Jacobsen."

"Naturally." He puts down his clipboard and rubs his hands together. "Are you ready to try again?"

"Yes."

* * *

"How was physical therapy?" Jack asks.

"It was fine," I say.

He turns off the TV and gets up. "You don't sound too happy," he says.

I pocket my key. "It's not my favorite thing in the world," I say. "It's a lot of monotonous stretching. But, it's important, so…" I shrug. "What can I do, you know?"

He smiles, and it occurs to me that…yeah, he _does_ know. That should have been obvious. "Kim dropped by while you were away. She wants us to come over for dinner tomorrow."

"That'll be nice," I say.

He steps forward and hugs me. "Stephen wants to use us as guinea pigs for his new sauce recipe."

"What, did Kim and Teri go on strike?"

Jack chortles and hugs me tighter. I grin against his shoulder. "And Teri wants to show us her pictures."

"Okay," I say. "Well, since tomorrow's all planned out, what do you want to do tonight for dinner?"

"Anything's fine with me," he says.

"Well, I'll go get something started." I'm starting to move out of his grasp when he tugs me back in. "Jack?" I say, grinning

"Why don't you go relax? I'll get dinner going. Go…take a nap, or a bubble bath…or whatever it is you females do to relax."

Despite the stereotype, a bath doesn't sound half bad. I doubt we have bubbles, though. The sudden image of Jack in a bubble bath makes me snort.

"What?" Jack says, looking quizzical. "That wasn't exactly the reaction I was hoping for."

"No, you're being sweet," I say, covering my chuckles with my hand. "Really. Thank you."

He gives me a small smile. "Okay. Enjoy yourself."

I start to step away again when he tugs me back, but this time he cups the back of my head and pulls me in for a kiss. I moan, and after a moment, he ends the kiss. "What was that for?" I murmur. "Feel free to do it again."

Jack gives me one more chaste kiss. "To remember me," he says, sighing dramatically.

Shaking my head, I brush his cheek. "I'd never forget you."

"Good to know."

I kiss him back, softly. He responds, and after a moment, I pull away. "One of us really should get dinner ready," I say, chuckling.

"You go, then. Relax." He kisses my forehead. "I'll call you when dinner's ready."

"Sounds great," I say.

He squeezes my hand one last time before going to the kitchen. I linger for a moment, then head down the hall.

What did I ever do to deserve him?

* * *

Jack raps his knuckles softly against the door. "Renee, honey? Dinner's ready."

"Great. I can't move."

He pauses. "You can't move as in you're so relaxed, or you can't move as in you injured yourself badly?"

"The former, Jack," I say, chuckling.

"Good," he says on a sigh. "Can I come in?"

Normally, yes. But there're stringy little blotches of blood in the bath, and no bubbles to cover them up. I shouldn't be embarrassed by a natural body cycle, but really, he doesn't need to see that. I sigh and heave myself up. "No, no," I say. "I'm up. I'll be out in two minutes, okay?"

"Where have I heard that before?"

"I heard that!" I smile.

"Take your time," he says more loudly. I roll my eyes and reach for the towel.

It maybe takes me five minutes to get decent and comfortable. I walk out to the kitchen, barefoot. "Mmm…something smells good," I say.

"Good." This time, he says it in a pleased tone, rather than a relieved one.

I kiss the corner of his mouth as I reach for an empty plate. "Thank you."

"No problem." He smiles.

We fill our plates and then each take a seat at the table. "So, you start work on Monday," Jack says.

"Yes," I say. "Monday, at 'one o'clock sharp.'"

"Do you know what the plan is?"

"I'm not sure," I admit. "I could be demonstrating skills or doing paperwork. I mean, she advertised for a teacher, but she seems like she'd rather have someone else do the paper-pushing."

"Then why not advertise for a secretary?" he says.

"Mmm…maybe she didn't want to trust anyone else with the documents. I don't know."

"Is that what you want? If it's not what you were looking for, there's nothing wrong in turning the job down. There's no rush, honey."

"It might not be what I expected, but it's not bad. My job at the D.C. FBI was mostly paperwork, too. Until the day we met, the only following-up on leads I did were very calm, very boring trips to posh offices. I just so happened to have field and martial arts experience before that," I say. Boy, did I have field experience. But I won't think about that now.

Jack seems to consider this. "I suppose so," he says. "When I first met you, you didn't strike me as a field agent, a rough-and-tumble type of person, and now I can't imagine you doing anything else." He grins one-sidedly.

"Really?"

He nods. I smile back. It's not quite a compliment, but it's not an insult either. It wasn't meant to be either…just an observation. If nothing else, Jack's very good at observation, which leads me to wonder how I could have possibly fooled him into not seeing the screwed-up person underneath me.

No. I shove the fork into my mouth. I've always thought raw spinach to be just a little bitter, and the large forkful shoots bitter sparks throughout my mouth. Serves me right for even skirting the idea of remembering the past. I know how dangerous that is.

When people say, "You're in denial," they always mean it negatively. They don't know that there are some things worth denying. It's how we – people who've committed atrocities for their country's sake – stay sane.

* * *

On this cool Saturday morning, I find Tania and Jeb on the basketball court.

"I don't know…how you…keep up with her…" Jeb pants as he jogs heavily to the sideline. Tania isn't even sweating. She tosses the ball up and it drops into the hoop.

"I don't," I say, grinning. "How has she been?" I add, more seriously.

"Ah…I haven't got a clue." He wipes his brow. "I can read market figures and consumer reports backwards and still understand them, but I can't read her and she won't talk to me."

Tania always seemed to be an open book. Maybe I just understand her moods because I see so much of myself in her…

"Hey Renee! Are you going to play with us?" Tania asks, bouncing the ball.

"Yes, please, help me," Jeb says, groaning. "I'm too old for this!"

"You're not old, Uncle Jeb. You're…like…32?" Tania says. She makes a face at him.

"Playing with her, I feel old," he says to me, rolling his eyes. "Well, how about it? Are you going to stop my niece from slaughtering me?"

"You know what? I think I'll just watch," I say. "After all, now I have a doctor _and_ a physical therapist to take my head if I aggravate this wound." And, of course, there's Jack, but considering the injuries he's aggravated in the past, I don't think he's in any position to talk.

"Oh, right." Jeb looks sheepish for a moment. "How's it going?"

"Not too badly. I don't even need the antibiotics anymore; I finished them yesterday."

"Think fast, Uncle Jeb!"

He turns just in time to catch the ball against his chest with a grunt. "I'm coming, girlie," he says. Turning to me, he says, "Well, since you _are_ injured, I _suppose_ I can forgive you for sentencing me to my slaughter." He grins.

"Be gentle, Tania," I call out, laughing.

"But he'll _never_ get into shape if I go easy on him," she protests.

"Ha-ha-hey, that was not called for," he says. His face is already red from the exertion of chasing a pre-teen around, so he'll be glad to know he's not blushing. Or, if he is, it's not visible.

She shrugs. "It's true, isn't it?" At his glare, she seems to realize that she's digging herself a hole, and she quickly changes the subject. "Go, quick! Score a basket so you'll be too busy celebrating to ground me!"

This spontaneous bit of humor from her slams into our funny bones. Jeb and I exchange looks as we bawl in laughter.

And then he does exactly what she said.

* * *

"Hi, Dad," Kim says, kissing Jack's cheek.

"Kim." He touches her cheek fondly.

"Jack," Stephen says, nodding with a smile.

"How have you two been?" Kim asks.

Jack takes my hand and smiles. "We're doing fine," he answers.

"Dinner in five." Stephen disappears into the kitchen.

"Teri turned the family room into a photo gallery," Kim says, leading us. When we see the pictures taped up at eye level – our eye level – Jack raises an eyebrow. "Well, I helped," Kim adds.

"Gotcha, Grandpa!"

Jack is startled, and we look down to see a five-year-old attached to the back of his legs. Relaxing, he chuckles. "Yes, you do, Teri-Bear."

"Yes, she does," Kim says drily, winking at me.

"Are you going to show your pictures to me and Renee?" Jack asks, ignoring his daughter.

"Uh-huh!"

He boosts her into his arms, and walks to the nearest photo. "This one first?"

"No, grandpa, that one!" She points to the first photo on the far wall.

Jack carries her over, and I follow. Any one of us adults would have gone consecutively around the room to look at them, but Teri's got other ideas. We bounce back and forth between pictures. They all have a childish quality by them, no rhyme or reason or careful planning of composition. They're adorable.

But it's one of the ones of Jack and I that move me the most. There are three of them. The first two are perfectly posed exactly the way she wanted, but the third one was captured just seconds before it was meant to be – instead of looking obediently toward her camera, we were caught glancing at each other. His love for me is evident in the picture; it's a sight I see all the time, though I never get bored of it. But it's my own image that startles me. Little Teri McAllen took a picture of a woman very much, very openly in love. Wow. Is that what Jack sees every day, just like I see it in him? I didn't realize... The picture seems to offer proof of something I already knew, but in the most tangible way: I am ridiculously in love with him.

"I want a copy of that," I say quietly.

Jack meets my eyes over Teri's head. "Me, too," he says, with a soft smile.

"Why?" Teri asks innocently. "You aren't even looking at the camera!"

"That's why we like it so much," Jack says. I smile. Damn, Bauer, get out of my head.

"Oh." Teri says this in a voice that says she's given up on understanding grownups.

I've just about given up on understanding us, too.

"Dinner's up!" Stephen calls from the kitchen.

"Be there in a second!" Kim says.

Jack puts his granddaughter down, and she leads him to the kitchen, struggling to pull him faster; he quickens his pace slightly, to humor her, but I know she could never actually pull him.

Kim hangs back with me as we go. "I can have the picture photo-copied for you," she says quietly.

There's a look in her eye I just can't identify. "Thank you," I say. She smiles.

"Okay, now, this sauce is an entirely new recipe. Be brutally honest – and don't worry, I have an ambulance on standby!"

* * *

Writer's Note: Renee and I needed a bit of fluff to offset the heavy stuff. :3 Thank you all for your reviews - you brought up some excellent points. I would write a more extensive writer's note, but I'm due for sleep. Darn mortality! ;) Chapter 2 of When We Fall may or may not get written and posted this weekend. It's going to largely depend on which characters, original and fanfiction alike, scream the loudest when I wake up tomorrow morning. XD If not this weekend, then Monday, I promise.


	37. Chapter 37

Writer's Note: Holy COW it's been too long since I updated! o.o Where do the weeks go? I hope Time is recycling them responsibly. All bad jokes aside, I made a minor correction in the last chapter to make one of Renee's comments more understandable. When I had her say "FBI," I meant to single out a specific time, namely her work under Larry at the D.C. branch, which was where she worked when Jack met her for the first time. :)

* * *

My blue suit feels almost silky against my legs. I look pretty nice, I think. My natural red hair color has formed a halo shape around the crown of my head, now, spreading further down my hair every time I turn around to notice. I've pulled it back and knotted it in a bun at my nape. I'm not going to get too crazy with my wardrobe or makeup, since I very well may be doing some martial arts exercises. I do dab some neutral makeup on in the corner of my eyes, but that's it.

Jack actually whistles when I walk out of the bedroom. "Renee, you're lucky your boss is a woman," he says.

"Oh, I am?" I say as he steps up and runs his hands down the suit's blazer.

"Mmm-hmm," he says. "If it was a man, I'd have to shoot him."

I chuckle. "Oh, stop. If I shot every woman that looked twice at you…" Audrey would be dead. The thought makes me grim in seconds, but I quickly smile.

Jack hasn't noticed my change in demeanor, or if he has, he doesn't say anything. "Do you have any idea when you'll be home?" he asks.

"No, I'm not sure. But I can't imagine I'll be out too late." I shrug.

"Well, if you are going to be later – I'm not trying to be overprotective, but – if you _are_, would you give me a call to let me know?"

"I know you're not being overprotective," I say. "Of course I'll call." I look over his shoulder at the clock. "I'd better get going."

"Okay," he murmurs.

Earlier, I'd packed one of Jack's old backpacks with a pair of sweats and a tee. I get it, go to the door and open it, and then stop, hesitant. "Aren't you going to wish me luck?" I say with a small, nervous smile.

"No," he says frankly.

"Oh?"

"You're not going to need it." Jack smiles.

The nervous smile broadens into a natural one. "Thanks."

* * *

"Not bad, Ms. Walker," Ms. Taylor says. She wipes the sweat from her brow.

We've been taking this session easy, but we've been at it for nearly forty minutes. My wound starts to burn with more than just exhilaration, and I say, "Thank you, but I think we should stop now."

"That's fine," she says. "C'mon. I've got a microfridge in my office."

I follow her in and she opens the door to the tiny fridge. I take the water bottle she offers me and twist the cap off, drinking in deeply.

Ms. Taylor swallows and sets her bottle down on the edge of her desk, covering what appears to be the last free spot on her desk. "You're pretty good. A little out of practice and somewhat limited because of your injury, but still pretty good."

"Thank you," I say.

She checks her watch. "The adults should be here for the afternoon session soon. Since you've never really taught before, I'm going to have you observe today's sessions."

"All right."

"Do you have any questions?"

"No."

True enough, about ten minutes later, men and women starting filing into the room. Most of them eye me in the first few minutes, not maliciously or anything; just neutral noticing, maybe with a dash of curiosity.

At five past two, Ms. Taylor announces me. "She'll either be teaching the afternoon classes or helping with paperwork. We haven't quite decided yet." She grins at me, and I smile back. She's a lot more at ease when she's with these people, I realize. Some of them smile, too, and nod.

"All right, let's get started," she says.

* * *

I get home to find a note on the counter.

"_Renee – Went to pick up groceries. Be back soon. Love you. –Jack._"

Then the door opens behind me. I turn, and my lips curl up in a smile. Jack walks in carrying four paper bags against his chest. "Hey. Let me get one of those for you."

"No, it's okay. I've got them." He kisses me on his way to the kitchen. "How'd it go today?"

"Fine. We did a little light sparring – don't worry, I didn't do anything more than I can handle," I add, seeing him glance twice, "and then I observed her afternoon classes." My smile grows wider. "The kids are really cute. Some of them, they're trying so hard to look intimidating, and it has exactly the opposite effect!" I snort.

"Kim used to do that," he says, getting a distant, nostalgic look. Then he shakes his head and grins back at me. "And now she can pull it off. The first of many good reasons why kids shouldn't grow up."

"C'mon…" I say, digging into the bags. I put the milk in the fridge. Jack hands me the sandwich meat and I put that away, too. "You don't believe that."

"I don't?"

"You can't fool me, Jack. Kim's a fine woman, and you're proud of her. You're proud to be her father, too."

His expression falls into a darker one. "I can't take credit for it," he says, putting the bread in the cupboard. "I wasn't around much, and when I was, Teri and I argued. Then…when I had only one thing that mattered…I took Kim into my world and she pushed me away for it. Rightfully so."

I put a hand on his arm, just below his sleeve, and he stops. "Kim was an adult," I say. "She didn't have to take the job at CTU. The things she's seen are not your fault."

"The things she's seen? What about the things she's _done_ because of me?"

Taken aback, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"Kim killed someone. She took a gun, leveled it at his chest, and pulled the trigger. Twice. And she did it because I told her to."

The idea of Kim killing anyone baffles me. His words replay in my head, and no matter how many times I go over them, I still can't picture her killing someone. Then I realize that I've been quiet too long. "I'm sure there was a good reason for it." Jack himself would never kill anyone unless absolutely necessary, let alone tell Kim to do so.

"Of course there was a good reason," he says, laughing shortly. "The bastard was trying to kill her. Just like he killed his wife. It was him or my daughter, and that's no contest. God…I would have killed him myself, but I wasn't there. So I told her to do it." He falls silent for a moment, and then says, "But I never wanted her to have to do that. All the lives I've taken – I took them to protect this country. But I joined the forces…I won't lie. I mostly did it to piss my father off. But I also did it because I knew the world was dangerous, and if I was ever going to have a family, I wanted to be in the first line of defense." He laughs again, but hollowly. "And look how well that turned out."

His wife died, his daughter shut him out, and Audrey was tortured. I can see what he means. Still… I slide my hand up to the back of his nape. "It turned out pretty well," I say, my tone light. "Your daughter had the chance to grow into a responsible, intelligent woman because of you. That's no small feat." He doesn't look convinced. I step closer and go nose-to-nose with him. "Lesser men would have crumbled."

Jack puts a hand on my cheek. His thumb rubs my skin softly. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"I love you."

* * *

Janis calls me about twenty minutes after we finish putting the groceries away. "_Hey, how's everything going?_"

"Not too bad, and you?"

"_Eh, morning sickness. It's not fun, but it's not terrible either. You had your first day today, right?_" she says.

"Yes. Ms. Taylor is great."

"_Ms. Taylor?_"

"Alicia Taylor, yeah."

"_No relation to Allison Taylor?_" she says. I can just picture her eyebrows rising.

"I don't think so, Janis. Just because they share the same last name, it doesn't mean they're related. Do you have any idea how many Taylors there are in the U.S.?"

"_No. I can find out in three seconds, though_."

"Show-off," I say teasingly. "Anyway. Aside from the morning sickness, how're you feeling?" I bite my lower lip. The questions I want to ask the most are the ones that seem most juvenile – "What's it like being pregnant?" and, "Have you had any cravings?"

"_Not too shabby. Rob says I'm glowing, but he's always said that, whether I'm trying to look nice or just getting out of bed_," she says, laughing.

"He sounds like a good man," I say. I smile.

"_He is_." She pauses. "_Speaking of good men_…"

"Yes?"

"_How is Jack?_"

She floors me. "Janis!" I say.

"_What?_" she says, almost defensively.

"You called him a good man. You've never done that before." As much as I know she's tried to keep her resentment toward Jack from showing, I know she's never liked him. "Thank you," I say, honestly.

"_Yeah, well, so long as he's good to you_," she says. Her breathing hitches just once, in a hesitant manner, and suddenly I realize there's an elephant that's about to be reintroduced. "_What's going on with…you know…Audrey?_" she finishes.

"Nothing," I say. "They're friends. As far as I know, they've only met once."

"_As far as you know_."

"And it wouldn't bother me if they met again," I continue strongly. I'm not entirely sure if I'm telling the truth or not, but the feeling is moot because I would never try to stop him from seeing her anyway.

"_I hope your trust isn't wasted on him, Renee_," she says.

"It's not."

* * *

After dinner, Jack and I watch a _James Bond_ movie. The outdated effects are funny, but the storylines are still good. I remember watching movies like this as a kid. I would picture my dad as James, able to do anything. My parents, without realizing it, only reinforced this idea in my head. At the end of the movie, my mom would stand up and pretend to swoon, saying, "Oh, James," and my father would sweep her close and repeat that famous line, "It's Bond, James Bond."

About three quarters into the movie, I hear a soft snore, and realize that Jack has fallen asleep. It makes me smile. I lay my head against his shoulder and sigh silently. These are the moments that most people will never appreciate. Anyone else would be annoyed if someone started snoring through a movie. I'm just glad that after a lifetime of all-day crises, Jack has the luxury to fall asleep during a movie.

I close my eyes. You win again, Mr. Bond. You always do. The rest of us in the protective fields are grateful to live another day.


	38. Chapter 38

I know you clicked this, expecting a long-overdue 38th chapter, but...I'm not quite ready yet. (Sorry!) (*ducks* Hey hey hey, at least put the rotten tomatoes in ziplock baggies before you throw them at me...ouch, people, your aims are too good! :P) I promised myself I was never, ever going to do this (and that I would never, ever have a reason to) but here is a lengthy but informative writer's note about my prolonged absence from the writerly world of fanfiction.

God, I can't believe it's November already! I must be suffering from "tempus volaticus" – flying time. XD Lots of things have been going on, and my fingers have been put to good use in typing essays (for school), letters of indignant protest, and very, very dry chapters for my NaNoWriMo story (my poor inner editor – the abuse she's going through! The abuse!). (Consequently, my NaNo novel and I currently hate each other, though I strive to overcome that tiny flaw in the design.)

In other news, I've added a couple of links to my writer's page. One will take you to my NaNoWriMo page, where hopefully you will be able to see the fruits of my ignoring my fanfiction ruthlessly. (And, if you don't, feel free to harass me about getting –something- done. ;)) The other will take you to my new blog (well, I guess it's not too new now…). You may also harass me about updating that more frequently, as well, or these fanfics, for that matter. ^_^ Sometimes we procrastinators need a little (*cough* was that the right adjective?) nudging to get us going.

To a more relevant topic – _Redemption_! Well, I've hit a tiny snag. You see, I know exactly what's coming up in _Redemption_, but I'm having trouble closing the gap between now and then. I'm working on it. The biggest problem is research. I feel like I need to do some more research to make certain parts of _Redemption_ more realistic (because, when I don't know what I'm talking about, I just sort of fumble about and try to avoid that part as much as possible). The biggest problem with research is finding the time to do it. I'm working on it, guys! I promise!

I sincerely apologize for falling off the face of the earth to you guys… ;-; GOOD NEWS is that we community college peeps get an entire week off for Thanksgiving (I know what I'm thankful for… XD) so you know what I'll be doing… (Namely, writing. Of three varieties. NaNo, essay, and fanfiction.)

Again, I'm so sorry for not updating in…holy crap. Over a month. o.o Whoops. My next short-term goal is chapter 38 – hopefully it'll be up sometime next week. We'll see how it goes. Once it is up, though, this note will be deleted in order to keep Chapter 38 with the numeral 38 (because I'm picky about little things like that xD). I'm so glad to see some surviving interest, and I hope to have a chapter for you soon!

wolfbones

(PS: I noticed some shock in a few _When We Fall_ reviews, namely due to its quick end. I would like to drop a hint that a sequel is not _totally_ impossible… ;))


End file.
